Her Mission, His Mistake
by xXLiFeGoEsOnXx
Summary: Ziva is forced to take a dangerous undercover mission in South Africa, and it's Tony's job to keep her alive. Along the way they realize that this mission will either tear them apart forever, or cement their wildest dreams. If they live long enough. TIVA
1. The Assignment

**Disclaimer: Some people have the need for stating the obvious, so here it goes. I don't own NCIS, or anything that you recognize. If I did, I wouldn't be writing about on a website, I would be out producing the show. And I would have made a few changes…like saving Jenny's life…**

Her Mission, His Mistake

Ziva David sank into her office chair, the rest of the room eerily silent, and the sun just streaking past the window. No matter how many times Gibbs told her she wasn't required to come in until eight, Ziva could never sleep any later. In Mossad, officers reported at 0500 sharp. It would take more than Gibb's word to erase such an ingrained part of her training.

And besides, the quiet was addicting. She prepared herself for her morning ritual, a nice long email to her Aunt Nettie and her cousins at home, but a sudden ruckus jarred her concentration.

"Come on, Probie, this is just sad. It's so sad, in fact, I'd almost feel bad making fun of you."

"Go with it."

"Ah, where's the fun in that, Elf Lord?" Tony's grinning face came into view as he and McGee neared their desks. Tony had his arm on McGee's shoulder; his gleeful expression the mirror opposite of McGee's horrified one.

"What are you talking about, Tony?" Ziva questioned, looking up from her computer to watch her partner follow McGee to his desk.

"McGee has decided to expand his wardrobe into the children's section." Tony grinned, and Ziva walked over to see what all the fuss was about. She couldn't help but chuckle a bit herself; under his jacket, McGee was wearing a cotton nightshirt with neon green pictures of super heroes.

"I was asleep, Tony. The Director said to be here in five minutes, and I forgot to change my shirt."

"The Director called you?" Ziva asked, her brow furrowed. If Director Shepard was calling Tony and McGee at home with such urgency, something had to be seriously wrong. Gibbs was normally in charge of making things interesting simply for the sake of watching his team's reaction. Jenny was more professional when it came to sounding the alarm.

"No, Ziva, I just decided to get up at 0500 and come to work three hours early." Tony replied dryly, lifting his head up from its resting position on his desk. His hair was sticking in a million different directions, and Ziva felt her mouth quirk in a smile.

"You could be getting a face start on the day, DiNozzo."

"Head. Head start, Ziva. And if I wanted to get a head start on my day, I would be at the gym watching the 6 o'clock pilates class instead of sitting here."

"Good to know, DiNozzo." Gibbs interjected as he walked into the room. A panicked expression flew across Tony's face, and he opened his mouth to defend himself, but Gibbs spoke first.

"The Director needs us up in MTAC. Now."

McGee scrambled up from his desk, overturning the file of papers that had been teetering on the edge, but he hurried after Gibbs without giving it a second glance. Tony and Ziva fell into place beside each other, walking up the stairs at a matched pace.

"Do you have any idea what is going on?" Tony asked her softly. Ziva shook her head, suddenly aware of Tony's hot breath on her ear and his arm brushing against hers. She silently cursed herself for acting like such a little girl and hurried her pace, taking the stairs two at a time.

Tony watched her retreating form for a minute, admiring the smooth movement of the muscles in her legs, before quickening his own pace. Gibbs didn't like to be kept waiting.

"Nice of you to join us, DiNozzo." Director Shepard looked away from the MTAC screen to pierce him with a reprimanding gaze.

"Glad to be invited, Director." Tony stated with a smile, taking his seat beside his team. Ziva flashed him a small smile before turning her eyes to face the screen.

"This is Kaman Hacksmani." Jenny pointed to the man up on the big screen, a man with typical Arab coloring and a tightly fashioned burnoose. "Chatter has been saying that he is a messenger between Al Qaeda and a terrorist cell in South Africa. The FBI took down his cell, but he managed to elude them. He booked a flight at two o'clock this morning, a one way trip to South Africa. I think he is going to activate the South African cell, and we need to stop him before he has a chance."

"Director, what does this have to do with NCIS?" Gibbs asked the question the rest of the team was thinking. "If the FBI was after Hacksmani's cell in the first place, why would they let us chase him down to South Africa? Fornell doesn't tend to hand over jurisdiction just for the hell of it."

"Maybe they are out of frequent flyer miles." Tony whispered, earning himself a glare from Ziva.

"Because of this man." Jenny pushed a button on the remote and another face filled the screen. He was tanned, but hardly Arab, and his blue eyes were narrowed in anger. Tony could hear Ziva gasp, and when he turned to face her, Ziva's face was ashen. He had never seen her react so strongly to a suspect, not even when she herself was suspected of killing that boy in the elevator.

"His name is Jamal Koram. He is a South African native and the suspected head of the terrorist cell. He is known for a terrorist attack in Spain, taking down fifteen with a car bomb, and a string of bombings in Cairo." Jenny met Ziva's eyes, and Tony watched in confusion as they transmitted a silent message between them. If at all possible, Ziva looked more upset afterwards.

"Chatter is saying that he is supposed to receive a shipment from Kaman that will prepare him to attack America so strong Bin Laden will look like a fairy tale."

"How does this involve my team?" Gibbs sounded irritated now. He wasn't underestimating the threat possibility, but there was something Jenny wasn't telling him. She had never before called his team from their beds, never before been too alarmed to wait three hours. And Gibbs, too, hadn't missed Ziva's audible gasp or the silent conversation she had with Jenny.

"Only one person has ever maintained a successful cover in Jamal's cell. Every other undercover agent has reappeared days later with missing limbs and a message to his superiors. And then we'd spend another six months trying to find where Jamal went. We don't have time to infiltrate his cell and wait for information." Jenny was talking directly to Ziva now, and all eyes turned on her.

Ziva set her mouth in a thin line and nodded her head. This had been her mission to begin with, her fault Jamal had escaped, and she was responsible for tying up the loose ends. She had been a new agent at the time, fresh from the horror of Tali's death, and too bloodthirsty for her own good. Ziva had eagerly accepted her first true mission, working alongside Jenny and her team in Cairo to keep Jamal and his men from blowing up their version of Embassy row. She's dived into her cover so deeply it had been hard to come up for air.

Part of Ziva, the part of her heart that had been thawed by her time in America, was terrified to immerse herself in that world again. She had escaped virtually unscathed, her cover intact, but too many Mossad agents had died on the mission. Ziva couldn't just walk away now, knowing she was the only person able to get justice for her dead friends. Her pride wouldn't allow her too, not even as her brain reminded her that she herself had barely escaped last time, not even as her heart reminded her how dangerous such an undercover mission could be for all involved.

"I understand , Director." Ziva stood up and nodded her head stiffly. Tony could detect a slight shiver in her shoulders, but he knew the Mossad agent would never admit fear. He admired that about her in most situations, but right now he wanted her to break. If she did, he could convince Ziva not to take the mission. It sounded dangerous as hell, and he didn't care who she had been before NCIS. She was Ziva, his friend, and perhaps something more if he was going to be completely honest, and the idea of her inside that cell made his stomach clench.

"You can't send one of my agents undercover without consulting me, Director." Gibbs stood too, angry and territorial.

"As your Director, Jethro, I can. She is not an NCIS agent, she is a liaison officer from Mossad. NCIS has no jurisdiction over this case but Mossad does, and Ziva is the only one with an established cover."

"She can't go in there alone." Tony spoke up. Ziva may be a ninja woman but she wasn't invincible. Sending her in to single handedly take down a terrorist cell was suicide.

"She won't, DiNozzo. If Gibbs doesn't object, I'm sending you in as part of her cover. You two have worked undercover together before, and Ziva will need someone she trusts."

"Why can't I go without her, then?" Tony asked. "Sending an Israeli, a Jewish Israeli, to infiltrate a cell with links to Al Qaeda seems unnecessarily dangerous."

"You couldn't possibly maintain my cover, Tony." Ziva looked at him, taking in the hint of panic in his eyes.

He hadn't meant to insult her, she knew that. He was an NCIS agent, but she was Mossad and moments like these made her realize the difference between the two agencies. His focused on the case, of course, but agents were to remain as safe as possible. In Mossad, an agent's life was worth less than the information acquired. Tony would never understand that.

"And besides, this is my job. I am Mossad and this is what I do."

"Why not?" Tony looked straight at her, his knowing eye picking up on the fear in her gaze. She was determined, that was obvious, but he knew her well enough to see her fear. She didn't want to do this, he'd bet his career on that, but Ziva wasn't one to back down from a fight. Just once, however, he wished she would. She'd live longer that way.

"Because in Cairo Ziva went undercover as a prostitute, Tony, and I don't think Jamal would receive you the same way."

A wry smile tickled the edges of Jenny's mouth as her observant eyes swept from a resolute Ziva to a horrified Tony to a furious Gibbs. Jenny herself wasn't thrilled with the idea; of the rest of the team, she was the only one who had seen Ziva after the Jamal mission in Cairo. She'd been a wreck, torturing herself for not catching the leader, blaming herself for all the agents who'd died in the process. Jenny her friend knew sending Ziva back to Jamal, putting her in that position again, would change Ziva once again. but Jenny Shepard the Director of NCIS knew that bringing Jamal down was even more valuable than Ziva's comfort and security.

This mission would certainly be interesting.


	2. Jean and Madeline

**Disclaimer in the first chapter, but for the record, all I own is my overactive imagination. **

**As much as I would like to promise such a speedy posting every chapter, don't get your hopes up. I am currently on NCIS withdrawl until September, and will be posting as regularily as possible, but time has a way of getting away from me during the summer. All the reviews certainly helped to light the fire under my chair; thanks everyone! **

Her Mission, His Mistake

Tony caught up to Ziva in the elevator on her way down to Abby's lab. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, each exchanging clandestine glances when they assumed the other wasn't looking. Ziva sighed heavily and flipped the switch, stopping the elevator with an audible thump.

"What, Tony?"

"What?" Tony shot her a bewildered glare and Ziva bit back the urge to smack him across the head.

"You look like someone bit your cat."

"No one _kicked_ my cat, Ziva, if that's what you're asking." Tony couldn't help but react defensively to the aggressive tone in her voice. He reached forward to flip the switch back, annoyed with his partner and positively exhausted, but Ziva's hand covered his.

They stood there for a moment, both of their hands resting on top of the switch, both craving human comfort more than they were willing to admit.

Ziva was too proud to admit to anyone, especially Tony, that she was terrified. Going undercover may be her responsibility, but she wasn't stupid enough to not see the risks.

Tony didn't want her to infiltrate the terrorist cell, didn't want to picture her cozying up to Jamal, and that fact alone angered him more than the mission itself. She was his partner. He was supposed to be concerned for her safety, of course, but he wasn't supposed to feel nauseated at the thought of Ziva and the blue eyed man.

"I don't like it, Ziva. There's too much room for error." The tension between them crackled like tinder, and for a minute there Ziva was positive Tony was leaning forward.

"I do not make many mistakes, Tony." Ziva winced at the timbre of her voice. If he would just take a step backwards, then she could compose herself. But she was tired and scared and completely wrapped up in keeping those emotions under control, and a sudden rush of libido was out of her realm.

"It only takes one."

"Well, that is what you are there for, DiNozzo. To watch."

"To watch." Tony echoed. He'd been watching when Kate died, too, but a lot of good that did. Somehow just 'watching' didn't make him feel better at all.

He hesitated for a second, his hand tightening on hers ever so slightly, but the added pressure flipped the switch and the elevator roared to life. Tony withdrew his hand first, and Ziva sighed softly as she rocked back on her heels and shied away from the door. He was her partner; he was supposed to worry about her, and she was supposed to know that he had her back. So why was she picturing him in so many other positions?

"There you are." Abby's voice sounded painfully chipper to Ziva's ears, but she smiled at her friend anyhow.

"Did the Director call down here, Abby?" Tony asked, coming to flank Abby and her computer. She took a slurp from her Caf-Pow and nodded her head, sending pigtails rotating like mini helicopters.

"Two French ID's, as ordered." Abby passed the photo ID's and passports to Tony and Ziva, also handing them two new cell phones. "Each is bought and paid for under the names on those ID's, as are two apartments in France just incase Jamal gets curious."

"Jean Bonswa?" Tony rolled the French name around on his tongue. Of course he had to go undercover as a Frenchie. He didn't speak a word of French. Ziva did, of course, but Tony imagined she spoke just about any language.

"In Cairo I was undercover as Madeline Vonsewi, a Parisian prostitute hired by a wealthy Frenchman to keep him occupied while he traveled." Ziva and Abby exchanged slight grins, and Ziva wrinkled her nose ever so subtly. "It worked for me before."

"So I'm the wealthy Frenchie this time around?"

"So it would seem." Ziva took a seat in the chair Abby pointed to, bracing herself for the onslaught of makeup coming her way. She barely tolerated the stuff when it was of her own accord, but, as one can imagine, prostitutes tend to use shelves full of makeup every week. Just one more aspect of this case she was going to hate. It had taken her weeks to work the eyeliner off last time.

"What happened to the last guy?"

"Jamal shot him. Through and through in the forehead." Ziva's voice was strained, her face unnaturally stiff as Abby brushed powder across the assassin's cheeks. Kora had been her friend, and Ziva felt responsible for his death. He'd known her growing up, both their fathers rising in the ranks together, and he hadn't liked her position in the mission. According to Jamal, he had protested sharing too much for the South African's taste. Ziva couldn't imagine Tony being much more forthcoming once she was enmeshed in her role, and that raised a whole new level of fear.

"Of course he did." Tony's was beginning to look a little green around the edges.

"We never said this was going to be easy, DiNozzo." Gibbs remarked in his usual fashion as he walked through the door. "Abs, how long before we can send them to South Africa?"

"Two hours tops if someone can get the right clothes in here, Gibbs. I can find some for Ziva but I don't have any French suits at home."

"TMI, Abby. McGee will be down with the clothes within the hour. I want them ready to go as soon as he arrives."

"You're sending McGoo to shop for clothes for a prostitute?" Tony smiled widely at the idea. "Do you think that's a good idea?" Gibbs fixed him with a silent glare before turning around and heading towards the elevator.

"Of course you do, Boss, or you wouldn't have sent him. I just meant—"

"He's gone, Tony." Abby looked up from the stack of makeup before her to flash Tony a sympathetic smile. "Here." She tossed him a file folder. "Go get acquainted with Jean while I take our Mossad officer and turn her into someone who'd make Ducky blush."

"I could help, you know." Tony offered, but Ziva's withering glare shut his mouth on impact. "On second thought, I will just go learn my cover."

When Tony poked his head into the lab twenty minutes later it took an act of God to keep his jaw fused shut. His eyes were nearly popping out of his head, but he was too shocked to utter the typical DiNozzo wolf whistle.

Prostitution agreed with Ziva. Her hair had been teased and coffered until it fell around her shoulders in ringlets, larger and taller than before, and certainly more polished. Her skirt was three inches shorter than even he was used to seeing, and her shirt, if he could even call it a shirt, was a pale silver and nearly transparent. He knew she was watching him as he stared, but Tony couldn't even pretend to care. It was Ziva, but yet, at the same time, she was an entirely different person. To Tony's dismay, as he took in everything the outfit didn't leave to his imagination, he found himself more jealous than anything else. Insanely, irrationally, jealous of the man who had managed to take Ziva David and turn her into every man's wet dream.

"We should send McGee shopping more often." Tony stated as he walked into the room, his eyes never leaving Ziva. She looked so entirely different; he was Tony, after all, so it wasn't as if he hadn't noticed she was beautiful before. But she looked so…vulnerable, so utterly human, Tony felt an entirely new rush of emotion. She was Ziva and she was a super ninja, but she was still a woman about to put herself in a compromising position that would make anyone squirm.

"You don't have to do this, you know." Tony said softly as he helped her off the stool. Ziva's eyes met his, and he saw the emotion swimming there. But, like she always did, Ziva closed the emotional door and pretended as if she was perfectly fine.

"Yes, Tony, I do." He nodded his head and accepted the suit from Abby without another word. "Alright, then, I'm in too. In for a dollar, in for a dime, right?"

Ziva watched Tony as he left the lab, and smiled lightly when she felt Abby squeeze her hand. There were so many emotions running through her head, so many conflicting feelings, she wasn't sure how she was going to survive a 23 hour flight. 23 hours of thinking time was the last thing she needed right now.

America had made her soft. Ziva David the Mossad officer would not be worrying about what lengths she'd have to meet to preserve her cover, she would have already accepted them without thought. Ziva David the Mossad officer would not be worried about anyone else's survival besides her own. Ziva David the Mossad officer would not be scared, and certainly not scared of belittling herself in the eyes of a man. But Ziva David the NCIS liaison was terrified that, after it all, after she had done her duty, Tony would look at her like the rest of her team had back in Ciaro. As if, because of her cover, because of Jamal, she was tainted. Different.

"Ready? The chopper is waiting." Gibbs and Director Shepard hovered in the door way, and Ziva felt Tony as he moved to stand beside her. "The pilot is going to take you to France so you can board a French NCIS helicopter, which will then take you to Johannesburg."

"We're on our way." Ziva gave Abby an awkward hug, more because the gothic scientist was tearing than because she herself wanted one, and exited the lab. Jenny grabbed Ziva's arm as she passed, whispering softly in her ear not as a Director but as a former teammate.

"Be careful, Ziva. Don't do anything you may not return from."

"If I don't, Director, I won't be doing my job." Ziva patted Jenny's arm and entered the elevator without looking over her shoulder. Jenny laid a hand on Tony's shoulder as he passed, lowering her voice to speak to him directly as well.

"Keep an eye on her. She has a habit to over extend herself, and I want her back in one piece. Watch out for her."

Tony nodded, his eyes never leaving Ziva. She stood there, her posture screaming confidence, but her chin was facing the floor and his trained eye could detect a tremor in her shoulders. She'd never admit it, but maybe she needed him, too.

"Nothing will happen to her on my watch, Director. You can count on it."

**Could that possibly be (gasp) foreshadowing? **


	3. It Came Too Soon

**Disclaimer in the first chapter, but for the record, all I own is my computer. And even that belongs to my parents. **

Her Mission, His Mistake

When the plane landed in Johannesburg the following day, Tony could barely keep his eyes open. He cracked his neck, glad to be out of such an awkward position, and fought to keep his eyelids open. They had been bounced between three different planes in Washington and France and Kenya, through customs over and over again, and he wanted to sleep more than anything else in the world.

A soft hand rested on his shoulder for a second as Ziva deplaned, the three foot drop slightly harder in steep stilettos.

_Correction, more than _almost_ anything in the world._

The tip of her heel caught on the rim of the plane and her gait hitched for a second, nothing Ziva couldn't correct smoothly, but Tony watched as every man on the tarmac anticipated her fall. Not that he could blame them. Ziva's cover had only gotten more alluring as time had passed. His suit had gotten more mussed, but her skirt had simply gotten shorter. His shirt had gotten wrinkled, but her hair had simply gotten taller. They were both equally frustrated, but at least her cover was intact.

"Excuse me, sir, are we expecting you? This is private property." A tall man approached Tony with a poorly concealed pistol in his jacket pocket. Tony and Ziva had been expecting this. They had purposefully rented a private helicopter and landed on Jamal's private tarmac in hopes of being confronted by one of his men. It was the only way Tony could pretend to be a French terrorist with ties to an extreme amount of C4, courtesy of Abby, and get in good with Jamal, courtesy of Ziva.

Ziva pressed her body close to Tony's, trying to convince herself that the adrenaline in her veins was due to the linebacker approaching them and not the nearness of his skin. She had to maintain her cover. They both knew that, which was exactly why he wrapped his arm around her waist, his thumb tucked into the rim of her waistband.

"Jean Bonswa." Tony smiled at the man and resisted the urge to react to the blatant way he was ogling Ziva. He was going to have to get used to men staring at her like this. A lot. "Jamal Koram and I share common friends, and a few common enemies."

"Is that so? What if I want to share a few other things?"

"That can be arranged." Ziva spoke this time, her voice deeper than Tony had ever heard it, but the look on her face the same one he had seen a thousand times. The flirtatious look she shot him everyday across her desk, and he didn't like to see her using it on someone else. He looked at her instinctively, a flash of something resembling pain in his eyes, and she pressed her hip tighter against 

him. There wasn't anything else she could do, and certainly nothing she could say. She could only imagine how awkward it was for him to watch based on how desperately she was trying to keep from feeling awkward herself. The minute she felt awkward…she'd be killed.

"What do you have that Boss needs."

"How do I know you're not a cop?" Tony asked, as he always did. The tall man laughed, but Ziva could see his muscles relax.

"How do I know you aren't one?"

"You don't. Take this as a good faith installment. There's plenty more where it came from for Jamal to purchase later in bigger quantities." Tony tossed the large man a square packed labeled C4, resembled the many bombs he and the other NCIS agents had found taped under cars and buildings, expect this one wouldn't go off if the goon threw it in a fire. Abby had filled it with a chemical of the same consistency, but three tenths the flammability.

"There isn't a detonator." He held the package warily before handing it off to the equally large man who had driven the vehicle. Tony smiled and Ziva laughed lightly, the air tickling his ear.

"So you can through it at me and run away? Not likely. If Monsieur Koram decides to do business, then we will talk detonators."

The two men exchanged glances, and Tony and Ziva did the same. They had considered what to do for Plan B, but it was considerably harder than Plan A. And left considerable room for error.

"Alright, get in. Marcus will get your bags." The head honcho waved them to the car and Tony and Ziva hurried in his direction.

"There is one good thing about this." Ziva whispered in his ear as they climbed in the backseat.

"What's that?"

"No movie references." She whispered back. He narrowed his eyes and barred his teeth, but hurriedly flashed her a smile as the driver turned around suddenly to check the rear mirror.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, the two big men in the front not prone to talking, and Ziva and Tony too wary to break cover. Ziva herself, although she would never admit it, was terrified of facing Jamal again. She wasn't the same agent she had been before—Ziva the Mossad agent would go to every possible measure to get the information she needed, and her agency would support that. Ziva, here for NCIS couldn't expect the same of herself or her team.

She wasn't sure if that meant she was getting weak or getting more mature.

The car hit a bump and the left wheel dipped into a pothole, sending Ziva far to the left and directly in Tony's lap. He could feel her warm skin against his, her thin shirt hardly a barrier, and her skirt too short to be considered one either, and he battled the urge to do something a little more…risqué.

Ziva tried to fight her way back to her side of the car, but this area of town seemed to be riddled with potholes and every time she was airborne she ended up right back where she started, squirming around in his lap like a fish out of water.

"You're killing me." She distinctly heard him mutter. The corner of her lip twitched upward and she combated the urge to really make him uncomfortable. At least Ziva knew this wasn't only difficult for her, at least she knew that she wasn't the only one feeling everything a little too…sensitively.

The car pulled into a dark alley and the door swung open. A large hand clasped around Ziva's forearm and she no longer had to worry about getting off Tony because the driver rectified that issue with extraordinary force. She grunted slightly as her ankle twisted with the force of her removal, and Tony could see the tiny half moon bruises beginning to form on her arm.

"Get your hand off her. Now. I can just as well turn around and sell my merchandise to half a dozen other men out there. Madeline is here as my guest, and you will not touch her unless I tell you so." Ziva bit her tongue to keep from shooting Tony an un-characteristic scathing glare. Madeline would appreciate such a speech, but she certainly didn't. What were a few bruises in light of an entire operation? He could have jeopardized everything. Didn't he understand she was here as a _prostitute_; they were going to do so much more than that.

"You heard Monsieur Bonswa, Marcus. She belongs to him. We must ask, as it is with any good man." Marcus let go of Ziva immediately, the larger man in his face with a stormy expression across his face. "You know the rules. Boss gets first pick, Marcus. Keep your hands to yourself."

"You alright?" Tony asked as he rejoined Ziva, the two of them walking a few paces in front of Marcus and the other man down the dark alley.

"That was a really stupid thing to do. You could have gotten your self killed."

"You're welcome."

"Thank you." Ziva smiled faintly. "There are three men on the rooftops." She whispered softly. He nodded his affirmation.

"Wouldn't be much of a terrorist if he didn't have backup."

"In here." The two men led Tony and Ziva into an abandoned warehouse at the end of an even longer, darker alley. They followed the two men down three winding hallways and into two different elevators, planting three different wires along the way. This way Jenny and Gibbs could keep tabs along the way; McGee could hack into Jamal's system from those plants.

The building itself looked like a typical warehouse, albeit a bit twisty, until they reached the bottom floor. Then it got ornate and quiet extraordinary. Ziva couldn't believe, in fact, how much it resembled Jamal's hideout in Cairo. There were the same couches lining the room, full of dark headed men with not-so-secret guns, and women walking around with platters of finger foods like half dressed 

stewardesses. There were hallways lined with closed doors that, if it was anything like Cairo, were full of luxurious bedrooms meant to lull and seduce.

"Marcus, Shaman. I see you bring friends." Tony felt Ziva stiffen in front of him as an unfamiliar voice rounded the corridor, a voice he could only assume was Jamal. Ziva turned to look at him, and for the first time in the years that he has known her, he could see fear readily available in her eyes. Tony took a step forward instinctively, whether to protect her or to preserve his cover, he wasn't sure, but he wrapped an arm around her waist and rested it lightly on her hip.

On a normal day she would have him hung from the rafters for such an action, but today she leaned back into him and seemed to relax.

A massive man rounded the corner, easily six foot five and built as a wrestler, with eyes bluer than cobalt and hair as dark as ink. He was smiling, but Tony could detect falseness in his gaze, hardness, and he disliked Jamal instantly. It could have to do with the fact that he was a terrorist, of course.

"Madeline." The smile on Jamal's face widened, and Tony could feel Ziva tremble ever so slightly. "When Shaman said our Monsieur had a salope with him, I was hoping it was you. I see you found yourself a new Frenchman."

"I see you have yet to find yourself a new profession, Jamal." Ziva's voice was strong again, teasing a flirtatious, but she had yet to move from Tony's arms.

Jamal laughed loudly. "The same Madeline, I am happy to see. Come, my dear. There is much I wish to discuss with you. The night is young, and you have been away too long."

Ziva hesitated for a moment, knowing what her answer would have to be. She had hoped she could wait longer before this would come up, find an alternative method around disappearing alone with Jamal and his insatiable appetite, but she knew him too well to expect anything less. There were things she could do, but not her first night here. He'd get too suspicious. Too nosy.

Tony tightened his grip around her waist, wanting to fight Jamal for her, knowing he couldn't do it. How could he let Ziva disappear with this guy with full knowledge of the things she was going to force herself to do in the name of NCIS? When he had signed himself up for this case, this was the very thing he had been prepared to stop. But he hadn't expected it to come up so soon.

"My monsignor and I have business to settle, Jamal." Ziva shook her head, trying to reason her way out as much as possible. "I am here with him; it is only fair he has the first night."

"He has you other nights. I haven't seen you in years, Madeline. He can wait." Jamal's voice was stronger now, and Tony was aware that the other men in the room were suddenly standing at attention, ready to fight at will. He understood now how Ziva's former partner had taken a bullet to the forehead. They surely armed themselves subtly around here.

"Sorry." Ziva turned to face him, leaning so close they were forced to take a few steps backwards and away from the crowd. Jamal, for his part, let them go. "It seems I am spoken for tonight."

Ziva stepped back for a second, alarmed by the blood rushing in her veins and how heavily her heart was thumping in her ears. This was it. She could pretend now that this was for the cover, act as if they were playing a part of Jamal, or admit to herself that this was for her. In the end, did it matter?

"Jean."

She started, not quite sure what she was going to say. Ziva moved forward again as she spoke, their bodies melded together, curve to curve, breathes mingling. Her lips parted instinctively.

"Madeline."

Tony felt every muscle in his body tighten as her softness met him like a caress. He lowered his mouth to hers, nothing left to loose; she was going with him tonight—if something happened, he wanted to die feeling this of his own accord. Nothing videotaped, nothing ordered. His idea.

It was everything they had thought it would be, and yet, at the same time, a spark so much greater. Hunger and passion, three years of pent up desire releasing itself in one desperate kiss in a dark basement before fifteen dangerous terrorists. Her hands wound themselves around his neck and his fisted themselves in her hair, and they stood like that, in their own world, consumed by passion and fire and emotion, until the taste of salt water fell upon Ziva's lips and she broke the kiss.

"Tony."

"Ziva."

He watched in silence as she walked over to Jamal. He watched as she smiled at him, as she laughed with him, as he wrapped his arm around her waist and led her down the hall and behind a door.

Tony watched until he couldn't see Ziva anymore at all.

**So0o…I'm taking a poll; Who wants Ziva to actually "prostitute" with Jamal and deal with the aftermath and everything that may entail, and who wants her to find a cunning way out of it?**

**BTW:** Salope French for prostitute. Sadly one of the few words I actually know.


	4. Not All Shields Are Made of Metal

**Disclaimer in the first chapter, but for the record, all I own is my car. Well, actually, not even the car. Just the insurance. And the gas prices. Trade? **

**I had a revelation, which involves prolonging a few things in order to throw in a few things I like to deepen the story. The results of the poll are duly noted, but I am going to employ that where it will do the maximum damage. Yes, I know. Pure evil. )**

Her Mission, His Mistake

The door clicked softly behind her, and her training detected the underhand hiss of a lock. Ziva smiled internally, more from wry humor than actual amusement. This seemed like a scene from a Mossad training handbook; get past the guy, pick a lock without any tools (without alerting the terrorists outside), get past said terrorists (still without any weapons), and somehow maintain cover. Ziva cracked her neck and her knuckles. This was going to take her the better part of the night…it was a good thing she was well rested.

Ziva warily observed the room around her as Jamal began to light the lanterns that hung from the ceiling. For a beautiful building, it lacked certain modern amenities and electricity was one of them. Unfortunately, proper cell phone reception was another.

Jamal's room was overly showy, to a point where Ziva would classify it as tacky. The walls were hung with deep purple Egyptian silk, the massive four poster bed the focal point of the room and surrounded by candles and a small wicker chest. The site of the chest alone was enough to make her subconscious shudder. Ziva knew what was inside there, she knew it all too well.

"I am glad to see some things never change." Ziva remarked with a slow grin as she watched Jamal strike another match.

"What things are those, my dear?"

"You always did love Egyptian cotton."

Jamal laughed, a deep throaty sound, and Ziva matched it with a seductive smirk of her own. He was in front of her now, his ring finger swirling and looping over her forearm. Not hurting, but using his nails with enough pressure to let her know he could if he wanted to. Ziva looked up at him, searching. Jamal thought Madeline was a prostitute; he wouldn't waste his time seducing her into bed, he'd act like any man would when he was paying by the hour. So why was he taking his time now?

The glint in his eyes answered Ziva's question. He was hiding something. That much was obvious, of course. He was a terrorist, so Ziva knew he was hiding millions of things she didn't want to pretend to imagine. But what was he hiding now, specifically relating to her, that would make him wait before fulfilling his desires? Jamal Koram wasn't a man prone to waiting around.

"Have you changed, Madeline?"

Ziva leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips, the innermost sanctum of her mind searching for something else to focus on. When she was on missions like this, she had to pretend her mission was someone else entirely. Someone she wanted to kiss. It made the task easier, made it seem almost as if it wasn't happening at all. Ziva didn't like that she was used to this part of her job, but she had chosen this profession for its results, not its smooth travel.

Normally, the face she pictured in her mind was of her late boyfriend, Mattie, the first man she had loved and lost. But today, the face in her mind was Tony. Today, the lips that gave beneath hers tasted of sugary coffee and pepperoni pizza, not brandy and biltong. Today, the fabric scraping her skin was smooth Italian leather, not a silk tunic.

"Do I taste different to you, Jamal?" Ziva whispered in his ear, pulling back. He looked exactly as she expected him to look. Hungry. Desperate. Men are almost too easy to control, Ziva thought dryly, watching as Jamal's pupils dilated and his stance tightened. If an unwilling kiss here and there meant hundreds of people wouldn't be subjected to the terror of a suicide bomber, or whatever the hell Jamal had in store for Kaman's goods, than Ziva would do her part. Silently. Without regrets.

"I've missed you, Madeline." He took a step forward, his hand on her hip. Not in a caressing, or protective, as Tony's had been earlier. His was more forceful. Demanding. She ached to push it off. "After Cairo, I thought the American Feds had arrested to you."

"That is why I left in such a rush." Ziva remembered her cover, rehearsed and memorized with Jenny just for this moment. He had trusted her before, and he would trust her again. Tony's cover depended on it. "What I do is not legal in the states, Jamal, and my clientele seems to be all too familiar with the American Feds. I am not the sort that would do well in prison. So I ran. I survived. It is what I do."

"You do seem to pick up your fair share of explosive sellers."

Ziva smiled again, rolling her shoulders in a way that sent the sheer material of her top shimmering across her torso. She watched as Jamal's eyes followed the direction almost instinctively, as expected. Good. A few more flirtatious moments and Jamal would be so focused on her he would personally cement the reputation of the undercover agent here to put him out of business. Tony's cover would be solid.

"They pay better, and I travel more. And besides, I do not like boring men."

"And what of the French men you are with, hmm? Jean Bonswa?" Jamal kissed the side of Ziva's face and she scrambled to put her shield back together again, her mind whirling between protecting Tony's cover and blocking out the infestation of his touch.

"He is the best, Jamal. I would take whatever he is offering."

"I think I will do just that."

The way he looked at her just then, Ziva knew he wasn't referring to a kiss. Or a bunch of C4.

Ziva closed her mind off instinctively, her Mossad training taking over, as she felt his hands on her skin. Even from her reserved state, she could feel him stop. Jamal looked at her for a moment, puzzled, and Ziva realized she was shaking. Ziva panicked as she realized something: she wasn't sure she could do this. Not now, not after spending two years with NCIS, two years with Tony… She was shaking and she wasn't reciprocating, and if she didn't act fast she could cost both her and Tony their lives.

She dove deep into herself to find the Mossad agent she used to be, the fiery and angry woman who had been willing to burn everyone in her path, even herself, to get results. She needed to be that passionate, furious, painfully determined woman now or she wouldn't make it out of this room alive. Ziva ripped through every internal barrier she had ever put up between herself and her emotions, every protective covering she had left. She had to flood herself with raw emotion, enough to motivate the Ziva of old to do what she had to do. For the mission.

_Ari, dead, her bullet in his forehead. _

She felt the pain fill her veins as images flashed before her mind's eye, its familiar ache a comfort to her, and she pushed Jamal backwards onto the bed. She needed to go deeper still.

_Mattie, his dismembered body thrown amongst anti-Israeli pamphlets._

Ziva felt the familiar comfort of her shield envelope her, the steely embrace of a mind trained to pretend it didn't know what the body was doing. She used strong muscles to flip him onto his back, his laughter echoing faintly in her ears. Could she hear that? Where was she?

_Tali's face, before the bomb, smiling and laughing._

Trained hands massaged his back, and Jamal groaned beneath her ironclad hold. Ziva was lucky Jamal didn't turn around. The look on her face was one of cold blooded hatred, the calculated and twisted manifestation of a lifetime of pain thrust upon a brain insistent on denial. The Ziva David she was on a normal day was captive to the internal Ziva David, an agent with a much greater hold than anyone among the living.

_Tony's car exploding on the MTAC screen. His gun. His phones. His badge. Cast among the rubble._

Ziva shifted her hold, stretching her legs farther apart to give her hands greater access to a wider range of his neck. Her mind did not register the moans her ears heard. There would be no sex here tonight. Not because she couldn't handle it, but because the logical and methodical Mossad Ziva who rose from the shield hardly thought using the strongest weapon in their arsenal on the first night was strategic.

_Tali after the bomb, broken and bruised, her black hair dyed red from the blood. _

Ziva's skillful fingers employed a massage move never taught in salons and Jamal, who only moments ago had been moaning beneath her, was silent. Sleeping. She rose from the bed, only half aware of what she was doing. Ziva could see herself opening the door, but she couldn't feel the knob on her hand or the air on her body.

Ziva was faintly aware of the world rotating around her, and the unconscious parts of her brain registered it as walking. Ziva herself wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. The images she had conjured to form her shield had yet to dissipate and were instead reforming themselves, sometimes in new poses, sometimes with new faces. There was fog in her mind, stifling her, choking her, spun from an overdose of pain once needed to preserve a cover and now slowly killing her from inside.

* * *

Tony sat up in alarm as Ziva entered the room. There had been no noise outside the door, not that there ever was with Ziva, but none of the men had led her to his room. How had she gotten past Jamal?

He looked up to ask her this, and his mouth opened in an automatic registration of shock. The woman that stood before him was not Ziva, not the Ziva he knew. She was wearing only the skirt from before and a lacy black bra, but she showed no signs of covering herself up. The look on her face was foreign…he had never seen it there before. The coldness, the sheer volume of anger, instinctively and primaly frightened him.

"Ziva? Ziva, what's wrong?" He rose from the bed and approached her, his expression worried rather than fearful. She wouldn't hurt him. She was still Ziva, and although she could threaten him with an imagination and a skill level worth of an Oscar, she'd never actually do anything. Right?

She laughed, the sound so strange, so hollow and unfamiliar to his ears. The Ziva before him looked as if she wanted to hurt him, as if she was there to kill him. Something was wrong. Something had gone terribly, horribly wrong with Jamal and Ziva was in trouble.

Tony could see Ziva reach a hand out towards him, and he didn't doubt she was intending to do harm. Instinct told him to reach for the knife safely hidden within his clothes, but Tony knew he couldn't hurt Ziva. She wasn't actually going to hurt him; no matter what hidden world she was reliving inside her mind, what horrible things she was covering up with rage and disassociating from, she was still Ziva.

He did the only thing he could think of. Tony reached forward and wrapped his arms around her tightly, one hand stroking her hair while the other tried to keep her left hand from wrapping around his neck.

"I was watching this movie the other night. The Black Narcissus, 1947. Deborah Kerr and Jean Simmons. Some of the best directing by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburg. So there are these nuns…"

* * *

Ziva felt the arms around her, was vaguely aware of her arms trying to get free of them, but something told her not to fight. The part of her brain that told her to lift the door key from under the rug, the part of her brain that had led her down the corridors and into this room. For the first time since she started Jamal's massage, Ziva's face changed expressions. She adopted an utterly confused expression wasted on Tony, who was still prattling on about the nuns in the Himalayas.

There was a voice coming to her from outside the fog, one getting stronger and stronger. A voice she recognized. Ziva could feel the pain subsiding, the grief fading into the background where she always kept it, the shield finally loosening its hold on her. Ziva felt a salty tear splash against her lip, and another on her cheek. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried, but it felt good.

"Tony, I thought we agreed. No movie references."

The voice was muffled, seeing how Ziva's face was cocooned in his shoulder, but the voice was distinctly hers. Tony stopped talking immediately and stepped back, suddenly feeling awkward. Ziva wasn't a fan of displays of affection, especially hugging, and he didn't want to offend her. He opened his mouth to speak, but all he saw was a blur of color as Ziva rushed past him and into the bathroom. Tony battled the urge to hold her hair back, but he figured Ziva was too private a woman to appreciate such a gesture while she was retching and doubled over.

When Ziva came back, the look in her eyes was gone and she looked normal again. Tired, and half naked, but fine. Tony gulped for an entirely different reason, his body responding to Ziva's near nakedness in ways he certainly wasn't going to address right now. She seemed completely oblivious to it.

"Here." Tony pulled one of his undercover shirts from his bag and wrapped it around her shoulders, coming to sit beside her on the bed.

"Thanks."

"You want to talk about it?"

She shook her head and clutched the edges of the shirt closer around her. This Ziva didn't remind him of his Ziva, and Tony realized just how little he knew about her. He knew how she smelled, how she tasted, how strong she was, but he had yet to see the vulnerable side. If he said he liked this side more would he sound like a cad? It wasn't the typical DiNozzo thought process, she's-vulnerable-so-swoop-in-for-your-share, but more of a dawning realization that Ziva was simply better at hiding her pain than everyone else. That didn't make her unrelatable or unfeeling or anything else. She just played a better game of hide and seek, hold the seek.

"Nothing happened."

"Something happened, Ziva. You came back in here looking like the Night of the Living Dead. If I didn't know you better I'd have sworn you were going to kill me. If we were back in DC, I wouldn't press it. But we are here undercover and unless we work together, this isn't going to work. What. Happened."

"We didn't sleep together, if that's what you mean." Her voice was soft, calm, eerily so. Not the cold and calculated calmness of before, but the trained voice of a woman used to reporting painful details on a regular basis. Tony felt a small smile of pity tug at his lips. How had he missed this side of Ziva before? Sure, her widely powerful and independent side was more obvious, but how had he missed _this? _

"I froze, Tony. I could have gone through with it, but it would not have been the same. I would have felt it. Remembered. That has never happened to me before. I have always been able to hide it, mask it, get the job done without thinking about how. If I can not do this I can not be a Mossad agent." Ziva's hands fiddled aimlessly with the worn blanket, desperate for an outlet for the unaccustomed display of emotion. She felt Tony's strong hand clasp over hers, his thumb gently stroking the side of her palm, and she stopped fiddling.

"That doesn't tell me how you ended up in here, lost inside your own head."

"It is a Mossad trick." Ziva shrugged. "It is easier to kill and to act undercover if you are only thinking about who you are acting for. The pain, the grief, the anger of the past protects the present from any emotions that may inhibit the mission." Ziva struggled to find the words in English for a moment, her mind running through a dozen possibilities. "The angrier we are, the more upset, the easier it is to finish the mission without regrets."

"Why didn't it work for you this time?"

"This is the only time I have ever not finished a mission with so much inside my head. I did not kill him, Tony. Even in that state I knew what to do. Almost better than I do now. And I did not sleep with him. It was too soon, would be giving away too much power." Ziva sighed. She did not like voicing her failures out loud. She had acted correctly with Jamal, but had failed to control the most simple of all Mossad tricks. Why had her trainers not taught her how to end the shield without completing the mission to the fullest possibility?

"The pain, the anger, had no way to leave." Tony stated, understanding now. He had been right, that hadn't been Ziva at all.

"Exactly." Ziva paused for a moment, her hands still enclosed inside his, their shoulders brushing on the small bed. She was terrified of herself, terrified of the emotions she had felt and her lack of control. How was Tony sitting here right now as if nothing had ever happened? "Tony? Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you know I would not kill you? You got so close to me…there were so many different ways for me to have done something, and in that state, I doubt I would have noticed until it was too late. How did you know you could stop me?"

"I didn't."


	5. Regrets?

**Disclaimer: See the first chapter, but just to assure you all, I didn't have enough money on my charge card to pay for the necklace I was ogling this morning. Rest assured, I haven't ever had enough to purchase NCIS. **

**This had a little more JIBBS than I originally intended, but why not? In my reality Vance doesn't exist and Jenny will remain for ever and ever. And this _is_ my reality...**

Her Mission, His Mistake

Gibbs shut the door to MTAC behind him with his foot, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. He recognized Jenny's red hair the instant he hit the door, and he paused for a second just to watch her in action. The video feed from the bugs Dinozzo and Ziva had planted were up on the screen, and Jenny was firing orders back and forth through her head set.

It was moments like these, watching her juggle so many different people and demands, that made Gibbs realize the director's job was good for her. It was full of political BS, but Jenny seemed to excel in smoothing over angered tempers. He smirked softly, finally entering the light as he approached her. She had certainly done a wonder on his.

"Jethro. I was wondering when you were going to get here." Jenny took the coffee with a small smile, a long sip the only indication that she was as exhausted as he felt. Gibbs allowed her to lead him over to the chairs.

"Abby was trying to find some intel on the shipment."

"We know what's in the shipment." The Director furrowed her brow as she took another sip. "Koram is financing and providing supplies for Hacksmani's attempt at a Jihad rematch on American soil."

"But I want to know how. A man of Koram's caliber wouldn't need to purchase C4 from anyone; if he is as good as you and Ziva say, he would have his own internal resources. What would he need with French exports? But since Dinozzo made it inside, we know he was interested in the offer."

"He has to be selling Hacksmani something else." Jenny transitioned to his train of thought smoothly, and Gibbs nodded his head in agreement. "All of Jamal Koram's attacks have been bombs in the past. I just assumed he wasn't planning on venturing into a new genre."

"You know what I say about assumptions, Jen."

"Don't quote Rule 8 at me, Jethro." Jenny stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth in front of the screens. "I should have looked into other options."

"You couldn't have known he was expanding his specialties, Jen." Gibbs rose to stand behind her, neither of them paying any attention to the roaming eyes of the technicians in the room.

"I could have gotten them killed."

"Well, they're in there now, Director. So all you can do is get them out safely. Have we got anything useful from those cameras so far?"

"Bits and pieces." The Director pointed to a minimized screen in the far left. "Ziva planted a bug in Koram's rooms two nights ago, but the lighting is terrible and I can only make out voices. I sent Abby the feed I really need you to watch."

"You couldn't show it to me up here?" They left MTAC hastily, hurrying down the stairs and into the elevator. Gibbs didn't like the idea of two of his people out of his reach, two of his people so deep in cover he couldn't penetrate anything in case of an emergency. Helpless wasn't a feeling Leroy Jethro Gibbs did very well.

"It was grainy at best, and I was hoping Abby could spruce it up a little bit." The elevator started with a lurch, not unusually strong, but strong enough to make Jenny stumble. Gibbs caught her elbow, steadying her, his insightful eyes peering into hers. How had it taken him so long to notice? There were dark circles around her eyes, a tell tale sign of exhaustion, and if her lightheaded spell was any indication, she hadn't eaten in a while, either.

"When was the last time you slept, Jenny?"

"The night the director of the FBI informed me of Hacksmani's intentions." Jenny admitted guiltily. Lying to Gibbs had always been particularly hard for her; he had been her partner, and so much more, for so long. They just naturally fell back into their old patterns of conversations, the partner trust they had relied on so much in the past, and sometimes she forgot that she was the Director and not required to confide anything in a Special Agent.

"They aren't going to come home any faster, no matter how hard you stare at that screen." Gibbs knew arguing with her was fruitless, but the hardened glint in her eyes was foreign to him. As his partner, Jenny had always pursued her missions in a dedicated manner. But never, not in all the years they'd worked together, had he seen that particular glint in her eyes. "What about this case is so different, Jen?"

The elevator doors sprung open before she had a chance to answer, and Abby's voice called out to them from her lab.

"Gibbs? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Abs." Gibbs repressed a smile as he appeared in the entrance to her lab. McGee was slumped over in his chair, a discarded Caf-Pow dangling from his fingers, his head resting on top of the keyboard in front of him. Abby was smiling brightly back at Gibbs, the pleasantly familiar spark of success apparent in her smile.

"I figured you would be here soon. Your psychic meter must have been tingling, Gibbs, because I just cleaned up the video feed the Director sent." Abby double clicked a file on her desktop and a shadowy black hallway filled the screen.

"McGee." Gibbs whispered in the junior agent's ear. A smack to the back of the head, Gibb's style, startled McGee awake quite effectively. He sputtered for a moment, gaping like a fish, before attempting to excuse himself.

"Sorry, boss. I've been on the phone all night trying to get South Africa to release Koram's records, and I swear, I just closed my eyes for a minute…"

"Later." Jenny interrupted sharply. The minute or so she had managed to salvage from this clip earlier had been enough to successfully frighten her. The possibilities of what they might see on this version were endless.

The screen focused on a dim hallway somewhere in Jamal's warehouse headquarters. The timestamp on the video feed put it at 0800 South African time on Day 2 of Tony and Ziva's mission. The screen was empty for a moment or two before a crowd of armed men came into focus.

"Koram." Jenny's finger brushed the screen, her nail spearing the head of the man leading the group. He hadn't changed. Same cocky smile, even while frozen in a candid shot, same ageless face. After Cairo, Jenny would have recognized him anywhere.

The men in the back started to speak in rapid French, in a particularly masculine tone that Jenny would imagine transmitted clearly between all cultures. It was the sleazy tone of voice some men assumed while speaking of a woman, chauvinistic and degrading even from the other side of the screen. The loud, raucous laughter that came next only confirmed her initial suspicions.

Koram stopped suddenly in the front, turning sharply to fire a few biting words in French, before shooting one of the men in the middle of the forehead. Execution style. The rest of the men left the hall in silence, and soon all that remained within range was the body.

"Wow." Abby stated as she closed the feed. "It's not going to win any awards, but it certainly got its point across."

"Abby, can we translate that French?" Gibbs inquired. His instincts drove him to believe that even men like Koram didn't kill their supporters just for the hell of it. The answer to his sudden violent outburst was there, just not currently understandable.

"The man was discussing Ziva, Jethro, or, rather, Madeline. He was wondering how much money Tony would accept for a night with her, and then graphically listing his plans." Jenny's voice was strong, but the exhaustion in her eyes had multiplied tenfold. There was something about this particular case eating her up inside—Gibbs would bet his career on it.

"And Koram?" McGee prompted, oblivious to the torment lurking behind the Director's controlled expression.

"He said that Ziva—that Madeline—belonged to him and any man caught touching her, or thinking about touching her, would answer to him. And that's when he fired."

The implications of Koram's threat stunned the team into silence. Abby had turned even paler, if that was possible, and McGee was staring at the screen as if he expected it to project something new at any moment. Undercover missions always carried a threat along with them, which was obvious, but the danger had just skyrocketed for both Ziva and Tony. Tony's cover may have put him in more danger than busting into the cell as a federal agent. At least then he would've had backup and an arsenal.

Jenny turned to Gibbs, her expression furious, but he could see the fear hiding beneath her mask. "That, Jethro, is why this case is different." She turned on her heel without another word, and he let her go. The Jenny he knew would rather be caught in a tornado without shelter than with tears in her eyes. Gibbs could give her a minute, for composures sake.

"McGee." Gibbs turned to his junior agent, the only remaining agent on his team, in fact. They weren't going to change anything by sitting around here. Tony and Ziva's hands were as dirty as they could possibly get, and in order to succeed they needed to be supported from the home base.

"Yes, boss."

"Keep on those records. Call in every favor you can think of, but I want every file their government has on Koram. Travel records, his mother's maiden name. Everything."

"Boss, that could take days."

"You have 12 hours. Work fast." He turned to Abby now, trying not to smile as she saluted him eagerly. "Do whatever you do down here and find me something new in that tape. Background noise, if it's possible, and hopefully a location."

* * *

The Director wasn't surprised to hear Gibbs barge through her door five minutes later. She was standing at the window when he entered, her eyes peering out at the Naval yard, but her mind somewhere else entirely.

"I was Ziva's contact, back in Cairo." Jenny began her story without a prompt from Gibbs. They both knew what he was here for. "NCIS wouldn't authorize the undercover op, so she went in my place, even though it was a U.S naval base Korman had exploded. I was in charge of the op. It took her four months of deep cover to break him, and everyone on the outside could only reach Ureal, the Mossad agent undercover with her."

"Her cover was too deep to risk it?"

"Ziva was too proud to admit she might have needed help." Jenny admitted with a small smile. "It was no secret her own father had ordered her to act as a prostitute until we caught Koram. She did as she was ordered, as any Mossad agent would have, but things went downhill fast. Ureal was executed within the first month, and we had no idea if Ziva's cover had been blown, too. I thought she was dead for three months."

The Director paused a moment to gather her thoughts, trying to weed the frantic emotions of the past from her logical explanation.

"She contacted us by chance, slipping a note into a cargo ship we were sweeping as Korman switched safehouses. My team pulled Ziva out within 72 hours, and we arrested most of his cell, but Koram got away. And Ziva…Ziva was different. Harder."

"A mission like that would have changed anyone, Jen."

"I know. She's never spoken of it, you know. It's the only mission she has ever refused to discuss. She dreamt about it, though." Jenny continued, her voice soft with memories. "She stayed with me in a safe house for a few weeks to make sure her cover hadn't been blown. I'm sure she doesn't remember the nightmares, but I do. Vividly. And I sent her back to do it all over again."

"She isn't an NCIS agent, and she could have refused. If she didn't want to go, she wouldn't have." Gibbs now understood the hidden emotion weighing so heavily on Jenny's mind. It wasn't fear as much as it was guilt--guilt for letting Ziva take her place before, guilt for sending her back now, guilt for not being able to stop the emotional turmoil Ziva was going to endure.

"When she went under, she was twenty one years old and on her first real mission. NCIS was so eager to catch that bastard I didn't even try to warn her of the danger. She went in there blind. Koram killed Ureal right in front of her, just because he had more of a claim to Madeline than Jamal himself did. He owned her, Jethro, and we left her there for three months without a damn thing to do about it."

"She knew what she was getting into this time, Director. I'd imagine Ziva wants to catch this guy more than any of us. Revenge is a powerful motivator. And Agent Dinozzo is with her, watching her back." Gibbs lifted his hands for a moment, instinct driving him to wrap them around Jenny's shoulders and alleviate her worries. But this wasn't Paris, and they weren't partners anymore. In the long run, comforting her wouldn't bring Tony and Ziva back any faster.

"Do you think Tony is going to be able to sit back and watch Ziva go through the same terror again? I know the costs, Jethro, but I also know what pursuing Jamal did to her as a person. As an officer. Can you honestly tell me that Tony is going to sit back and watch it happen? For the good of the mission?"

"No." Gibbs answered truthfully. DiNozzo was a damn good agent, but Ziva was his partner. And Tony wasn't going to leave his partner behind. He'd try and find a way out of it, and most likely die in the process. Like Ureal. Like the man from the video clip. But the difference between Tony and those men was that he knew the risks, he knew why Ureal had died, and he knew Ziva better than almost anyone in Washington. They could get through this. Together.

"Before tonight, I wasn't sure Jamal was as invested in Ziva now as he had been back then. But if he killed one of his own men for simply talking about sleeping with her, Jamal is going to see Jean Bonswa as a threat for Madeline's affections. He's killed to get her before, Jethro, and I don't think he will hesitate again."

"If Ziva is in this for the revenge, she won't turn him down. The chance to get him vulnerable will be too tempting." Gibbs hesitantly followed her musings, not much liking the dark road he saw before him. This case was going to get bad fast. If the tides turned and NCIS had to pull them out fast, the chances of Koram not searching for Madeline this time around were slim to none. He'd killed for her before, and Gibbs was sure he'd stop at nothing to possess her entirely. He didn't doubt Ziva could handle him--he just hoped her emotions wouldn't cripple her judgement and her reflexes.

"Ziva won't break cover before she kills Koram once and for all. That I know. I was counting on her anger to get her through this. But now I'm afraid Koram is so obsessed with Madeline she might use that to extract her revenge even after our mission is accomplished. And if she disappears with him…she won't make it back."Jenny laid her hand flat on the glass as she spoke, picturing the countless hours she had spent looking out the window of Ziva's room in Cairo. The younger agent would have been mortified to know it, but the only think that softened her screams was the presence of someone else in the room. Had being a director changed her so much, Jenny wondered, that she could send her friend back to suffer like that again? Had the politics and the power altered her compassion so drastically?

Jenny and Gibbs paused, the silence deafening and heavy upon their painfully alert brains. There was a large possibility that either Tony or Ziva, or possibly both, might not make it out of this mission alive.

**As if I could ever forget about everyone left behind in Washington...just a slight filler chapter to describe the stakes a little more clearly and reinstate the rest of the NCIS family. **

**But now for the serious stuff: I have two, or three, actually, possible venues for this story to take. 1: more time spent on the undercover mission itself, brief rush through the after period. _2: brief rush through of the mission, a more in depth time spent on the after (emotional inflictions...etc...)_ _or 3: a mix of both--only to be chosen if you want to be here for a while lol. _**

**Lemme know what you choose so I know where to take the story next! Thanks!**


	6. Deer In the Headlights

**Disclaimer in the first chapter, but for the record, all I own is my cable bill and my broken TIVO--which seems to film every other minute. **

Her Mission, His Mistake

Ziva shut the door quietly behind her and turned the lock as slowly as possible, hoping to keep from waking Tony. Last night, Jamal had requested they join him for a play in the city. They were both so eager to get out of the warehouse they'd accepted immediately—and proceeded to spend eight hours watching a hideous rendition of Aida in an unrecognizable African language. Ziva had hardly watched the play the whole night; the further Jamal slid his hand up her dress, the redder Tony's face got, and the more nauseated she felt. They'd got back to the warehouse around 0200 Zulu, and Tony hadn't spoken to her since.

She cast a quick glance to the bed and relaxed her shoulders a bit. There was a rumpled wad of covers on one side of the bed, leaving the right side, her side, completely stripped. Tony was probably under there somewhere.

They had both decided Jamal was the paranoid type who would install surveillance in his own rooms, so Ziva and Tony had agreed to masquerade behind closed doors as well. This, as far as Ziva was concerned, earned her too much time in an uncomfortably short nightgown and a night tossing and turning in the cold.

"There you are." Tony's head peaked around from the bathroom and Ziva felt herself returning the smile. His hair was rumpled from sleep and he had a half-awake, loopy grin on his face. She hadn't seen him look that relaxed and at ease since before Jeanne. Which was incredibly ironic, considering the situation, but sleep can do wonders on a troubled mind.

"Good morning. I hope I did not wake you."

"No, I've been up for a while. Where did you go?"

"Just to stretch my arms." Ziva rummaged around in her suitcase for a more suitable set of clothes. Since she'd left the room so early in the morning, Ziva hadn't thought anything of walking around in slightly normal clothes. Well, as normal as Spandex shorts and a running bra could ever be at 5 am. It was like Jenny always said—the true gift in undercover work is mastering the little details as well as the major ones, knowing how to act while in the play, and how to act while waiting for the play to begin again.

"Legs. Stretching your legs." Tony corrected her with a smile, watching as she selected a sundress that was too short and too low cut to actually constitute as a dress.

Tony never thought he'd be the one to say this, because on a normal day he'd give anything to be ordered to watch a beautiful woman parade around in microscopic clothing, but he'd be grateful the day Ziva went back to cargo pants and combat boots. Cargo pants didn't make him want to shoot every man whose eyes followed her down the hall. Cargo pants didn't make jealousy bubble unbidden in his stomach as she dressed for someone else.

"Same difference." Ziva scooted past him and into the bathroom, shooting him a teasing smile as she closed the door behind her. "Could you open that new toothpaste bottle for me, Jean? I think it might be time."

"Yeah." Tony shouted back as he pulled the Colgate bottle from his own bag. When they'd planned this under cover op, McGee had equipped them with a handful of technical gadgets, things Tony and Ziva needed to place around the warehouse so NCIS back in Washington could get enough evidence to storm the cell. But, since Jamal was a paranoid bastard, he'd done exactly as Ziva and the Director had assumed—he'd had them both wanded for weapons and the like, and their bags put through an X-ray machine. Normally, if they'd gone in blind, he would have caught every one of their gadgets. But McGee and Abby had prepared them to fool the system.

They'd already placed three bugs into the three hallways with the highest traffic rate, as well as a bug inside Jamal's room. Hidden inside this toothpaste tube was a tiny flash drive. Once Ziva or Tony inserted it into Jamal's computer, it would infiltrate the system with an invisible virus, giving McGee immediate access to all of his records. The problem was figuring out a way to locate the computer and a way to slip the drive in undetected.

"Damnit." Tony sliced of the top of the toothpaste bottle with the hidden knife he always kept in his belt buckle, spewing blue mess everywhere. He'd opened it over a pile of discarded newspapers on the vanity, but the pressure in the tube had been exacerbated by the flight and it had shot forward with the force of a BB gun. Sparkling blue goop splattered over the back wall, over the carpet, over the chaise.

He wrinkled his nose and made a face as he dug around in the mess for the tiny black case. This was sticky, and disgusting, and he could feel the sugar granules with his fingers. How, exactly, was this stuff cleaning his teeth?

A slight hint of jasmine and mango teased his nose, mingling with the sickening sweet scent of the Colgate. Ziva's shampoo. At least somethings never changed. A second later he could feel her hand on his shoulder and her warm breath on his ear.

"Find it?"

"I think that's it right there." A glint of plastic was noticeable in the middle of the mess, and Tony finally retrieved a Saran-wrapped memory stick. A smear of blue marred the surface, but the stick itself seemed perfectly fine.

"Good." The tip of Ziva's nose ticked his cheek as she whispered directly in his ear, and Tony resisted the urge to turn his head one fraction of an inch and… "Jamal comes back from a meeting at 0700 and I think we can plant it then."

"Do you have a plan?" He whispered back, standing up so he could look her in the eyes. He knew she was Mossad, and he knew she was a super ninja spy, but Tony wasn't going to let her carry anything through until she could tell him, with a straight face, that this was the least dangerous way.

Ziva had to take a step forward so she could whisper in his ear, and, for a second, they were in complete contact. Tony could feel every inch of her through the thin material of her sundress, and he was sure, at this point, she could feel every inch of him, too.

"I always have a plan, my little hairy butt." Ziva's breathy whisper didn't help Tony get a grip with the situation. She tilted her head back a little, enough to look him in the eyes and smile teasingly, but neither of them took a step away.

It had been three days since their kiss, three days since they had felt that drumming in their chests and that fire in their stomachs. They had never broached the topic of 'the kiss'—Tony assumed Ziva had been trying to maintain her cover, and Ziva assumed Tony was trying to maintain his. The kiss had been watched by so many, and had fit perfectly into the manuscript of their cover. Neither of them could be sure what it meant to the other, and hubris and fear kept them from asking.

But now, there was no one watching them. Now, this kiss would be because of the thunder in their veins and the desire in their eyes. Ziva felt her heart quicken as he parted his lips, feeling like an idiotic teenager but loving the rush anyhow. Tony tilted his head close towards hers, stopping for a second to gauge her reaction, but the audible gasp was all the go ahead he needed.

He could feel the shadow of her lips on his when someone began to pound on the door. They froze, so close and yet so far away, before Ziva ran and hand down his cheek and left to answer the door. _It is just as well, _Ziva mused._ This is hardly the time to start up anything. If we are not focused, it could easily get us killed. _

"You have got to be kidding me." She heard him mutter as she left the room. A slight smile flickered across her face before Ziva answered the door. It was one of Jamal's personal guards—the red sash separated him from the rest—and he thrust an envelope into her hands without a word.

Ziva opened the envelope as soon as Tony joined her on the bed, Jamal's all too familiar handwriting looping across the page.

"It's in French."

"Why yes, Jean Bonswa, I do believe it is." Ziva teased as she scanned the letter, patting his knee in an attempt to chase away the annoyed expression splayed across his face. Her French was better than her English, after all, so it wasn't hard for her to understand.

"I better go." Ziva announced as she stood and headed towards the door. "Jamal just got back from his meeting and he wishes to speak with me." Ziva pressed the flash drive, which had been tightly curled inside her fist, into Tony's hand. She stared at him intently, hoping he understood what she was trying to explain. It would make more sense to whisper the plan to him, but her nerves hadn't calmed down yet, and she didn't think she could then turn around and see Jamal. Disappointment wasn't an emotion Ziva liked much, seeing how it couldn't be employed for much of anything, and she needed a clear head when she went to see Jamal. It would keep both of them alive longer.

Tony nodded his head, gripping the still warm memory stick, and she smiled slightly as she slipped out the door.

* * *

Ziva was finding it very difficult to look sexy and at ease while her nerves were over active and she was vexed beyond reason. She'd been inside Jamal's room for five minutes now, and he seemed to have no plan to tell her why he had summoned her in the first place. She was, at this point, flirting herself into a circle.

"Madeline? Aren't you coming?" Ziva, startled, looked around to find Jamal waiting for her in the doorway. They'd been inside the entry way to his quarters for so long she had barely remembered how many rooms he had inside of here. How, exactly was Tony supposed to find the computer? She'd locked the front door behind her when she came in, securing the bolt a moment too soon so the door was slightly ajar, but there were so many internal rooms to choose from.

"I am sorry, Jamal. Do you mind if I get myself a drink?" She smiled slowly, and watched, satisfied, as he nodded without a hint of suspicion.

"The kitchen is down the hall. Help yourself; I have a bottle of the finest Cognac in the left cupboard. I'll wait for you in the living room." She nodded and headed down the hallway. The living room was actually quite perfect. There was a perfect view of the front door from one specific spot, so she could keep an eye on Tony, but the entertainment station was so large most of the door was blocked.

It was three minutes and four doors later, but Ziva had found the computer in the last door on the left side of the hall. She left the light on in the room when she left, hoping it was enough for Tony. She entered the living room with a bottle of Absolut dangling from her fingertips.

"You need to relearn your alcohols, my dear." Jamal was standing in the living room, a cardboard box on the coffee table. Ziva trailed a finger down his arm and held his hand loosely, leading him to the couch directly in front of the front door. She sat first, in the only place with a clear view of where Tony would soon be, and he easily sat next to her, his vision blocked.

"Ah, but why waste a perfect Cognac?" Ziva smiled as she tipped the bottle to her lips. "I plan on getting too drunk to care if it is Cognac or Bud Light." She forced herself to wink after swallowing, passing the burning down her throat off as no more than a tickle. Ziva was an experienced drinker, that much she knew, but few could take such a large chug of vodka without a kickback. And maybe that's what she needed—the all-American coping method, instead of Mossad's way of handling things.

"As much as I enjoy a beautiful, drunk woman," Jamal began as he lightly took the bottle from her hand and placed it on the table. "I need your opinion about something first. Business before pleasure."

"I am all yours." Ziva heard the slight creak in the floorboards as Tony entered the room, her Mossad senses alert in an instant, but she scooted closer to Jamal on the couch and rested her hand on his knee. He didn't seem to notice as Tony entered the room, nor as Tony slipped down the hallway Ziva had just left.

"I trust you, Madeline." Jamal said simply as she sliced the box open with his knife. "Everyone who works for me is here because I pay them, because they know I will kill them if they leave."

"They know too much." Ziva nodded, wishing she didn't understand as much as she did.

"Yes. But you, Madeline, you are the only one, of all my men, who didn't squeal like a child when the Feds slammed us in Cairo. Most of them were caught by the Feds, as they deserve, and the rest I had killed before I reorganized. But I'm well aware of the fickle nature of my men. I need someone I can trust when this cell gets activated, because this is going to be the biggest mission yet."

"I thought that was why Jean and I were here." Ziva answered, her eyes flicking back and forth between Jamal's face and the now open cardboard box. "Monsieur Bonswa is the leading seller of C4 in Western Europe. I am sure we can accommodate even your insatiable appetite, Jamal."

"The bomb is not my mission, Madeline." He seemed oblivious to the shocked expression splayed across Ziva's face. She hurried to cover it, but the confusion was harder to muffle. Jamal Koram had always used bombs. Always. Jenny hadn't passed any intel that he was getting into anything else, but, then again, they'd been unable to make contact for three days. "I need to raise funds, so I am doing a favor for a friend. I have no interest in this bomb, just Kaman's money."

Kaman. Kaman Hacksmani. Ziva tried to balance the giddy grin spreading up her face and the horror bubbling in her stomach. The bad news was that Jamal was planning something much larger and much more deadly than any of them had imagined. The good thing was that Jenny and everyone else in MTAC was able to hear his confession.

"You have peaked my curiosity, Jamal. What is in the box?" There were a million things running through Ziva's mind. Some form of nuclear weaponry. Some form of biological weaponry. Something, something horrible.

He barely had a chance to tilt the box open when Ziva could see Tony's dark form in her peripheral vision. Apparently, this time, Jamal heard something. He stopped, his hand stilled on the box, and tilted his head. Ziva could see Tony freeze, not sure if it was better to sprint for the door or wait and see if there was anything to worry about.

Except from this angle, Ziva knew there was. Tony was out in the middle of the floor, four feet from the door, too far to dash unnoticed. And Jamal knew he was there. Jamal who was paranoid about his secrecy, Jamal who she'd watched put a bullet in Ureal's skull.

If she didn't think fast, he'd put one in Tony's, too.

**...Dun Dun Dun... **

**So I am a huge fan of reviewer interaction, because this way I the writer know what you the reader actually want to read--I am not yet presumptous enough to assume everyone agrees with my ideas ) Yet. **

**So, can everyone in favor of Tony and Ziva smut raise their hands? I am not thinking XXX or anything, but what I say and what they do depends on what YOU say. **


	7. Temptation's Playground

**Disclaimer in the first chapter, but for the record, all I own is my ever expanding list of summer work. And my deadline is forever looming closer. **

**I apologize for the time it took me to update—my grandmother died recently, and writing hasn't really been on the top of my mind. Plus, hours upon hours of school work will discourage anyone.**

**Oh--I asked in the previous chapter about smut, and here is my attempt at writing Tony and Ziva in all their glorious possibilities. If you are offended by the smut, it is only between the two lines (in the middle). The beginning and end is PG-ish. **

Her Mission, His Mistake

Ziva met Tony's eyes for a moment, recognizing the similar expression of fear reflected back at her. Her peripheral vision caught Jamal's slight movements as he began to shift his own eyes towards the sound, his hand instinctively reaching for the Glock tucked in his waistband.

As soon as she recognized the all too familiar form of the weapon, she didn't even think. She just acted. Tony needed her to be an agent now, a professional, to follow the instincts drummed into her from birth instead of the welling of emotion in her throat. A professional, proactive solution for a possible problem. It was her partner stuck there, not Tony. A fellow agent, not the man she had almost kissed merely fifteen minutes ago.

With the speed of a woman desperately under a deadline, Ziva slid forward on the couch so her body blocked Jamal's view of the door. His eyes flickered to her cleavage for a second, lingering obviously, but he craned his neck to see around her into the shadows. Right at Tony.

"I think we've had enough business for now, Jamal." Ziva murmured against his throat as she kissed the pressure point under his ear, her lips slowly gliding up towards his mouth. She could still see the hand he was not-so-casually resting on his Glock. And her Mossad senses could still hear the slight creaking of old wood as Tony shifted his weight by the door. The danger wasn't over.

"Wait." Jamal's body leaned into her kiss, but his mind was still preoccupied with the threat he accurately perceived. His paranoia was stronger than his libido, at this point. Ziva had to make a conscious effort to keep from rolling her eyes. If she wanted to give Tony a chance to make it out of this room, she'd better kick it up a notch. Just dandy.

"I'm tired of waiting." Ziva slipped her hand into the waistband of his pants, her touch causing him to release his hold on his Glock and press his hand on top of hers instead. She carefully unclipped the weapon from his belt, moving it out of his reach as she unbuckled the belt and slowly slipped it out of his pants. The immediate danger was over. But yet, she could still hear Tony by the door, still smell the hint of Colgate that seemed to be coating his pores. What was he waiting for?

Ziva had hoped he would be gone by now, which would then leave her free to abort her current situation with Jamal before it spiraled out of her control. She could only tease so much before Jamal took action, and she could only take certain precautionary measures before her cover was at risk. The seesaw was teetering deeper and deeper every second Tony stayed inside the room, and she was helpless to stop herself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tony knew what Ziva was planning to do the second her eyes met his. There was a hidden apology mirrored back at him, her silent way of acknowledging that watching Ziva with Jamal was the emotional equivalent of pouring molten iron down his throat. Tony knew that Ziva was trying to save his life, and he should be grateful she was taking the risk to her own emotional health instead of saving her own ass and letting him figure it out on his own. But he didn't feel grateful. He felt angry.

Anger froze him in place as he watched Ziva's lips caress Jamal's face, as he watched Jamal's hands fist themselves in her hair, as he watched Jamal's eyes darken with desire. Anger stole his breath and paralyzed him in place—every glance was searing his soul, but he couldn't move. He just…couldn't. Anger bubbled under his skin as Ziva's hand slipped lower and lower, as Jamal groaned in response, as Ziva's silken hair came to fall in a shimmering wave against Jamal's bare chest.

He was angry with Jenny for allowing Ziva to be used this way. He was angry with himself for putting her in a place where Ziva felt such actions were necessary. He was angry with Jamal for touching her, for kissing her, for putting his hands in places he had only lusted after. But most of all, he was angry with Ziva. Because she was kissing Jamal back. Because those were her hands, untying the top of her dress. Because she thought saving Tony's life was worth this. The truth was, Tony would rather have died than watch Ziva and Jamal in the way he had always wanted to see Ziva and him. And he was furious that Ziva didn't know that.

Whether it was the culmination of his swelling anger, or the sudden realization that he wasn't in any physical danger, Tony wasn't sure. But, either way, he found himself slipping out of the room in much the same way he had entered it. Alone. Undetected.

He slammed open the door to their room and kicked it shut, satisfied at the loud noise and the sizable dent. His anger had risen to overcompensate for the sickening nausea sweeping his body, and Tony found himself clenching his fists again and again. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ziva with Jamal. He heard them. The overwhelming urge to cram his gun barrel down Jamal's throat was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Tony barely registered the door to the room opening and shutting until he felt Ziva Gibbs smack him. He turned around, anger smoldering in his gaze, masking the pain effectively. Perhaps that was the intent after all—to numb.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Ziva cried out, her face as set in anger as Tony's. Her hair was mussed, and her dress slightly off kilter, but she looked just as serious as ever. Somehow, that angered Tony more. Because this was a mission to her, a requirement of her job, and to him she was so much more. "You could have gotten yourself killed. Get in, get out, remember? That was a completely idiotic, ridiculous, asinine—"

"Oh, you're one to talk." Tony responded harshly. It was only then Ziva noticed the expression on his face, and human instinct made her take a step backwards. Ziva David then made herself take one forwards. This was Tony. He wasn't someone to be feared, someone to expect danger from. Tony.

"Excuse me?"

"You think fucking Jamal is going to keep him from killing you? From killing both of us? You think throwing yourself at him is what, just good business?"

"This is what I came here to do." Ziva hissed, baring her teeth as she laced her words with acid. "You knew that from the beginning, so do not come here now and question my methods. It is my job."

"Your job." Tony laughed harshly, running a hand through his hair. "Exactly."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just nevermind. I'm going to take a shower." Tony stalked towards the bathroom and flung the door so hard it bounced off the wall and came rocketing back towards him. Ziva, following on his heels, stopped it effortlessly with her hand.

"Do not turn your back on me. Fixing this could mean life or death for us. We do not have the luxury of anger out here." Ziva reached a hand out tentatively, placing it softly on his shoulder. Tony gritted his teeth but didn't shrug her off. "Why are you so mad?"

"You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have let Jamal…you just shouldn't have done that."

"What was I supposed to do, sit there and watch him put a bullet in your skull?" Ziva stared at him incredulously. He was angry because she saved his life? Because she put his own safety ahead of her own, a fact that scared her to her very core? It had taken a good dosing of barbiturates to suddenly slip Jamal into a deep slumber, and she had barely managed to slip him the drugs undetected. Ziva's actions had saved his life—so why was Tony so mad?

"You could have died!" Tony exploded, his anger radiating in waves as he gripped Ziva's shoulders roughly. "You could have died." He said it again, softer this time, and Ziva could see the anguish beneath his anger. The air crackled between them, anger and pain and confusion making a heady mix. They stood like that for a second, Tony's hands clenching her shoulders, his eyes furious and frightened, hers mystified and defensive.

Tony leaned forward, no longer hesitant, his anger providing the proper fueling his libido needed to move past the rules. He was too far gone to think about anything but her lips on his, her body moving beneath him.

(here)

* * *

He kissed her, hard, his mouth a tight line of anger and desire, and she responded in kind. The tentative tiptoeing was stripped away, replaced by passion and tight fury. They moaned together, tongues battling for control, eager teeth nipping at tender flesh along the neck.

Ziva's hands curled up around his back, clutching at his hair, pressing her body even closer to him. The thrumming in her veins was in control of her now, the desire strong and domineering, and her skin set itself on fire wherever he touched her. She slipped her hands down and under his shirt, clawing at the sleek muscle beneath her touch. Ziva felt the buttons give way beneath her frantic fingers, and her palms zeroed in on his flushed chest. Her body ached for touch, for contact, her hands literally trembling in their desire to touch him. To be touched by him.

Tony pressed her hard against the wall, sliding her down slightly so she straddled his thigh. He thrust upward once, and once more, harder, as he felt her moan resonate deep in his throat. Tony couldn't help but smile against her lips as he felt her hips buck against his touch. She was as ready for him as he was for her.

"If we go any further, Ziva, I'm not stopping. Now is the time to tell me." Tony pulled back for a second, his eyes searching hers. He wanted Ziva as much now as he had two weeks ago, and two weeks before that, but he wanted her to wake up in the morning with no regrets.

"Tony, I could not stop now if I tried." Ziva trailed her hand from the dusting of hair on his chest down his abs, and down further still, until her fingers rested atop the zipper of his jeans. "Could you?"

"I-I'd rather not." His voice caught as Ziva's fingers slowly un-did the zipper, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head as she slipped her hand inside. Her touch licked at him like a flame, and he knew it wouldn't take long for his knees to buckle and the two of them to collapse on the floor.

Tony knew he didn't have long to wait. The urge to savor this moment, memorize the feel and the taste of her, just wasn't feasible after waiting such a long time. His body ached for culmination, to bury himself deep within her and meet her thrust for thrust, to feel her body quivering around his as they climaxed together.

His hands made quick work of his jeans. Tony heard a soft noise from Ziva, something between a moan and a chuckle, and he tried to smile when he saw the dominant gleam in her eyes. She thought she was in control. It would take him one delicious minute to prove otherwise.

Tony placed delicate kisses along her collarbone as his hands untied her sundress, letting the skimpy material shimmy down her body and pool around her knees. Tony lifted her up, allowing the dress to fall to the floor, as his lips caught her breast and his thigh rose hard against her again.

Ziva felt a moan rip through her throat as Tony slammed her back against the wall. Her hand gripped the back of his head as he teasingly flicked his tongue against her nipple, his hips continuously thrusting against hers. Ziva felt her head roll back and her breath falter, her desire so strong and potent it almost frightened her.

"Tony…" It was all she needed to say before he suddenly thrust deep into her. She cried out, not from pain, but from pure completion. Their bodies met, thrust for thrust, need for need, understanding without explanation.

Ziva came first, crying out against his shoulder to muffle her screams, and her shuddering movements against him sent Tony over the edge as well. They reached the zenith together, pant for pant, white hot fervor exploding in a burst of unmatched fulfillment, and the feeling was something neither had ever felt before. Sex had never been something either one of them was shy about, and they had both had their fair share of partners. But the strength of their desire, the ease with which they understood and matched each other, was new to both of them.

* * *

(done)

They collapsed together, sliding down the wall. Ziva rested her head against Tony's chest, her legs tucked beneath him, their arms still entangled. Neither felt like saying anything. Nothing truly needed to be said.

Ziva ran her thumb across Tony's chest, right above the steady beat of his heart. How many times had she pictured herself in his arms? How many times had she turned away for reasons that, at the time, seemed too good to ignore? The truth was, in the end, she would have traded anything for this moment right now. Ziva would have given anything to be able to see the look in Tony's eyes as he gazed at her, a mix between awe and total satisfaction, his arms so causally holding her tight against him.

Who would have thought the calculated and logical Mossad agent would have allowed herself to put such a crimp in their under cover plans? Certainly not Ziva herself. But Tony was different. He always had been. Which is why, perhaps, Ziva felt her heart constrict as she realized her lack of control might cost Tony his life.

"What now?" Tony sounded hesitant, scared, almost, to even ask. Ziva sighed deeply, kissing his lips softly before rising. She pulled her sundress over her head and tried not to look at a very confused Tony sitting on the floor.

"We do what we came here to do. If we let this come between our mission, it will destroy us. We have to continue as if nothing happened."

"You really need to work on your pillow talk."

Ziva chuckled as Tony stood up and shrugged into his jeans. "It is not my first choice, Tony. But after we finish this mission, we can focus on what we are going to do next. Together."

"Together?" Tony asked, stepped closer so her face was inches away from his again. She certainly didn't look as if she was regretting anything, but Ziva's words seemed to be indicating otherwise.

"Together." Ziva kissed him softly, and then patted the side of his face with the palm of her hand. "That is, if you want. I understand battle fever, and if that is what this was, I understand—"

Tony silenced Ziva with an equally light kiss, his smile too wide and bright to even try to hide. Tony felt his grin widen as Ziva began to smile with him, too.

"Together sounds…ah, fine."

**So0o...how was that? Too smutty? **

**I am thinking the undercover portion is coming to a close; there are a few things I need to wrap up, but I wanna tackle the after effects--the case was mainly my catalyst to bring TIVA into reality. ****While ending the case, should I aim for Ziva and Tony to basically save themselves super hero style, or some direct hands on help from our NCIS agents not truly forgotten back in D.C? **


	8. A Truth Revealed

**Disclaimer in the first chapter, but for the record, I don't even own my bedroom any longer. The relatives have invaded, so I think my chances of owning NCIS went out the window a long time ago. **

**I am really sorry it's taken me so long to update!! School started back up, and it's been crazy. Add that to the new remodeling job we are doing on the house, and half the time I don't even know if I am sleeping in my room or a hotel. Thanks for sticking with me!!**

Her Mission, his Mistake

Tony was asleep when Ziva untwisted herself from his arms and tiptoed to the bathroom. She splashed some water on her face and ran a hand through her tangled hair. Much to her dismay, and amusement, there was still a smile playing across her face. Tony seemed to have that effect on her.

Ziva was an experienced enough agent to know that she needed to find a way to turn her emotions off as much as possible. She had known something like this would happen between her and Tony sooner or later—there were too many shared looks and caresses—but Ziva had prevented herself from taking the first step for practical reasons. Safety had to come first. Especially now, with Jamal talking about bombs and hidden weapons that weren't bombs at all, when they were thousands of miles away from Gibbs and everyone else who could help them. There wasn't time for her to smile like a giddy teenager, or bask in the afterglow, or think about Tony when she should be thinking about how to extract information from her target. She had to focus. Both of their lives depended on it.

"Hey there, beautiful." There it was again, that giddy smile, spreading across her face as Tony wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. The Mossad half of Ziva wanted to duck out of his grip and bring him through a blow by blow tactical plan of their next moves. The NCIS Ziva, the one with the smile and the warm glow, sank back into his touch.

"Good morning."

"Morning? It's twelve in the afternoon."

"What?" Ziva spun out of his arms now, alarmed, her eyes wide and surprised. Twelve? Jamal always sent for her by this point in the day. Jamal was rigid about his schedule, and Ziva was always called to him by nine in the morning. And that was only the first request of the day. Jamal always needed something from her by now. What if this meant he was on to them? Or he had suddenly moved the plans forward and was about to make a move right now?

"I tired you out." Tony's smug smile would, on a normal day, cause Ziva to rise to the occasion. She would tease him back, as he expected, and they would banter back and forth until one of them gave up. But today, Ziva was too panicked.

"Jamal's going to be wondering where I am. He's going to get bored, and bored always leads to annoyed." She twisted away from Tony's attempts to kiss her and scurried into the room, tearing through her suitcase, muttering under her breath the entire time.

Tony leaned against the back wall to avoid stepping inside Ziva's war path. He waited until she had shimmed into her tank-top and nearly see-threw shorts and was headed towards the door. Ziva looked back at him as his hand closed gently on her forearm, almost surprised to see him there. Great. She'd already forgotten he was there in her rush to continue the mission. That did wonders to his ego.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I am doing?" Ziva snapped, angry with herself for causing that hurt expression in his eyes, angry with him for promising he understood when he didn't. The mission had to come first. She knew that, had always understood that, and she thought he did, too.

"Jamal didn't send for you. Do you think he is going to want you to just burst into his room and ask him to talk shop?" Tony set his Special Agent face clearly into position before he began speaking, and he saw the relief fill Ziva's eyes.

She was the most professional person he had ever known, and perhaps the only one who would ever be able to turn her emotions on and off like a light switch. Except, perhaps, Gibbs. But Tony understood the risks of not doing so out here, and he understood she was afraid for him. Because he wasn't like her. Because he cared about her too much to let her walk to Jamal over and over without eventually snapping. Because he knew she had seen a man die for doing just that, and he knew she cared too much to let history repeat itself.

"Jamal likes initiative." Ziva responded softly, her resistance gone as she saw Tony slip on his professional face and meet her toe to toe. They could do this, work Jamal the way they had to for the mission, for their lives, and still explore the emotions between them. Maybe they could really do it all.

"So do I." Tony teased, his trademark grin shining through, and Ziva felt herself smiling back. He kissed her then, and Ziva wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. He kissed her slowly, almost to reassure himself that he still could, his hands tracing the curve of her hip and the dips in her collar bone. It was as languid as the previous night had been zealous, and they were both delighted to notice that the passion was the same.

"You can stay, you know. I can think of some things I need you to do around here." Tony whispered into her ear. Ziva sighed against his chest, rose up to kiss him softly, and took a step towards the door. Every sane nerve in her body was telling her to wrap herself up in him and never move, to let him make her feel like she deserved any of his attentions, but she knew her place.

"Business comes first. It has to."

"I know."

* * *

Ziva padded to the end of the hallway and stopped before Jamal's door, shocked to see it open a crack. Jamal never left his door open—he was too paranoid for that. There were, like always, two of his personal guards standing at the doorway. They didn't seem to object as she pushed the door open and stepped inside, so Ziva continued on down the hallway. More likely than not, Jamal had instructed his men to pretend she didn't even exist. He was possessive that way, always had been.

In the living room she could see Jamal with three other men, all of them looking Middle Eastern, none of them identifiable from her distance. She felt a growing sense of satisfaction as she realized Jenny and everyone else back home was getting a direct feed of their private conference.

"We have three more pilots, Jamal. Kaman recommended them and faxed files over this morning. I brought them personally." The shorter man to the far left was speaking now, and Ziva was sure she didn't recognize the voice.

"Good. That puts our number exactly where it should be. Do we have someone working on uniforms?" It was Jamal now, his oily voice more cultured than the rest, but tempered still with more anger than Ziva had ever heard from him during a professional setting. Jamal prided himself on being emotionally unattached with his attacks, even as reports of death tolls came in. This attack had to be bigger than anything he had ever tried before, the culmination of all his others. The end result—it was the only reason Ziva could think of for the fury in his tone. Jamal was prepared to use everything he had, and he had nothing left to risk after this was over.

"Hasan told me to contact him in the morning."

"Good. Than come back here tomorrow. I want a full list of everyone we are using and expected dates."

Ziva hastily knocked on the side of the wall and stepped forward into the room, sensing that the meeting was coming to a close. It was better that she announce her presence herself, rather than have one of Jamal's men find her spying.

"Ah, there you are, my dear." Jamal's face broke into a smile when Ziva entered the room, and she tried to pretend she wasn't bothered by the eyes she could feel boring into her. The men were watching her, undressing her mentally, and she couldn't help but be amused when she noticed Jamal was just as put out as she was. Did he think his dirty claim to her was somewhat more profound?

"Good morning. I hope I am not interrupting."

"Never. We're done here." Jamal glared pointedly until the men took their eyes off Ziva's smiling face and too exposed body and headed for the door. Jamal's face softened as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leading her towards the living room couch.

"Seemed important." Ziva fished carefully, pouring him a glass from the decanter on the coffee table. Jamal accepted the glass, sipping slowly, his other hand resting on top of the wooden box in the center of the table. The same box he had almost opened for her the other night.

"I trust you, Madeline, but business is business. A woman's place is not in the board room." He opened the box and withdrew a handful of papers, holding them a hairswidth away from her sight before he straightened them and placed the stack back inside. He was baiting her. Waiting to see what she was going to do for the information, how far she was willing to go. Her hunger would show where her loyalties lay.

Ziva's eyes widened with anticipation. This could be it. If she could figured out what he was planning, when, Jenny could hear everything and pull them out. They could go home, mission accomplished. This could decide everything.

"That depends on the type of meeting." Ziva smiled coyly, trying to morph her desire to punch Jamal in the face into a sleek smile. "And what, or perhaps where, the woman is." Ziva smoothly transitioned herself onto his lap, ignoring the satisfied grin that splayed across his face. He thought he'd played her, and it killed Ziva to let him be so smug.

Ziva pictured Tony's face in her mind as she moved, Tony's hands on her waist, Tony's lips on her neck. Except, when she kissed him softly and felt his chuckle rumble though her bones, it wasn't Tony at all.

"It seems I am out of flowers, my darling, and I am in much too good of a mood now to resist you any longer. Here, look as much as you want, I have nothing to hide from you." A lazy, self satisfied smile was apparent on Jamal's face and he didn't seem at all wary as he opened the box and handed the papers into Ziva's eager and waiting hands. It never ceased to surprise her—even the most paranoid man could be cowed with a lap dance. And they say men have all the power.

Ziva's eyes hurried across the page, and when she was done reading, it took all her willpower to keep from running to the bathroom. Bile was building in her throat and her hands were trembling. She had never expected such a plan to come from Jamal. He was a horrible man who deserved to rot, sure, but she hadn't thought him smart enough, cunning enough, to pull something like this off. She and Tony were in over their heads.

"What do you think?"

"I am very impressed." Ziva chose her words carefully, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. She had to repeat the plan so Jenny could hear without alarming Jamal to the bug's presence. She had to be cool, collected, on the top of her game. This was what she had been trained for.

"We are almost ready." Jamal said with a smug grin, locking the papers back up in the box. "Kaman has sent me enough pilots to disperse everything to avoid detection, and they are all dedicated men who will follow orders after landing."

"So you are trading Kaman a bomb for pilots?"

"And connections. He has many connections in Washington, D.C, my darling. My men will do the rest." Jamal took a sip from his wine glass and eased back into the couch.

"How do you expect to get them past security?"

"Let's just say they will fit right in." Jamal said with a smirk.

"It is not like anyone would notice a few extra tourists in Congress any way." Ziva bite her tongue, hoping Jamal wouldn't react. She had to speak carefully, bit by bit, so Jenny could detect without getting herself killed. But Jamal was so paranoid she didn't expect him to be satisfied with any conversations out loud.

Jamal chuckled and swallowed the rest of his wine. Ziva sighed deeply and moved in for the last bit, prepared to duck or deflect if necessary.

"Although I am surprised you chose anthrax. It hardly seems original enough for you, Jamal, America has had many anthrax scares over the years."

"You think me un-ambitious?" Jamal's face darkened slightly and Ziva pushed forward, braced and ready. She was so close to finished she could almost hear McGee and Abby laughing back at home. So close.

"I do not judge, Jamal." Ziva reached for her own glass and tried not to jump when he backhanded it, shattering the glass on impact. Shards flew everywhere with a snap, and Ziva flinched as blood trickled down her hand.

"I am not a coward, Madeline, nor do I copy other men. This is anthrax so powerful no medication has yet to find a cure. Airborne, and deadly within five minutes. I am going to become a legend among my men, and you will not think me lazy. I won't allow it." His face was deep purple, mottled with anger, and Ziva had to repress every survival instinct she had ever been taught. Madeline did not fight. She seduced.

"I know you are not. You are a very powerful man." Ziva ran her fingers through his hair and kissed the side of his jaw, massaging the tension from his shoulders until she felt the coils of anger dissipate under her touch. When he looked at her again, he wasn't smoldering any longer, and he ran a gentle finger down the side of her face.

"Don't toy with me, Madeline. I am a very dangerous man, and I don't like being played with."

"That's half the fun, isn't it?" Ziva smiled and slipped off the couch as the side of his arm was beginning to slip beneath her shirt. She could still feel Tony's touch warm against her skin, and she wasn't ready to trade that feeling. Not for oil and gunpowder and filth. She needed more time.

"I am expecting company for dinner tonight, Madeline." Jamal spoke up as she was halfway to the door. "Kaman and his men are coming to finalize our agreement. I expect you to accompany me."

"Of course."

* * *

Tony was sitting on the bed, flipping through an old South African newspaper when Ziva came back. She headed straight to the bathroom, and he took one look at the blood sliding down her hand and followed her.

"What the hell happened?" He turned on the water and took her injured hand in his much larger one. There were four or five glass splinters gorging her palm and a steady trickle of blood dieing her hand and her wrist crimson. Ziva winced as Tony carefully withdrew the splinters and gingerly stuck her hand under the faucet.

"I found out Jamal's plan, Tony. And it is huge. Much bigger than I thought he was capable of."

"How bad are we talking?"

"Kaman Hacksmani is trading him one bomb for a half dozen pilots who are prepared to smuggle mutated anthrax into D.C."

"Holy shit."

"It gets worse." Ziva wrapped a towel around her hand and tossed the glass into the trash can, allowing Tony to lead her into the bedroom. She took a seat on the bed and tried not to wince as he applied antiseptic and band aids to her cuts. "Jamal has men who are prepared to spread the anthrax around the Congressional building. This version is completely untreatable; everyone will be dead within minutes."

"I guess we are really lucky Gibbs is listening to that bug. They can take care of this, Ziva. If anyone can, Gibbs can."

"I know." Ziva laid her head against his chest and sighed as he wrapped his arms around her. There was a growing pit of dread gathering steam in her stomach, and her instincts were never wrong. Something was going to happen. Something bad, and she had the overwhelming fear that there was nothing she could do about it. That fear was what had propelled her to join Mossad in the first place—it was hardly new. But the sudden and equally terrifying fear that something could happen to Tony, because of her, because of this, scared her almost as much as the dread itself.

"I got you something to eat. It doesn't look particularly tasty, but you need to eat something, Ziva." Tony seemed completely nonchalant, as if he thought about taking care of her every day, as if this was just what he did. And maybe it was. But Ziva hadn't had anyone take care of her since her mother died, since Tali died, and mundane common courtesies were more than mundane to her.

"I've got something else in mind." Ziva reached forward and pulled Tony down on top of her. He complied instantly, mouths meeting, hands eager and willing, muscles primed and ready.

For once, Ziva would worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Today, right now, all she wanted was Tony. Today she would listen to the crazy part of her brain saying that if she could feel him inside her right now, taste his lips, touch his skin, than there wasn't anything to be afraid of.

Today, right now, nothing else existed but the two of them. Their bodies, their desires, their needs. There was nothing else going on in the world—which is, perhaps, why the next few hours came as such a shock.

**...Dun Dun Dun... I know what happens next. Do you?**


	9. Duped

**Disclaimer in the first chapter, but for the record, I don't even have possession over my own computer. Sharing really has come to mean belonging to the sibling who makes up the most convincing lies—i.e., my sister. **

**I am really sorry it's taken me so long to update!! I am thinking this is going to be slightly regular for me until school tapers off and I get into the normal routine of dealing with homework. It sucks, but hopefully I won't get any longer in between updates! Thanks to everyone who reviewed—you're the reason I stopped procrastinating in the first place!**

**And kudos to crokettsgirl—you hit the nail on the head big time with my story arch**

Her Mission, his Mistake

Abby's lab was dead quiet and eerie shadows cast their light across the machinery as McGee took one last slurp from his CafPow. The Director had assigned him and Abby the extremely boring job of watching the live feed streaming from Jamal's room in shifts of eight hours, and his shift was fifteen minutes from over.

The tunnel feed was filtered directly into MTAC, and so far, all the interesting information had come directly through there. They already had a feed on Jamal's, and Kaman's, master plans almost two days ago. Gibbs and the Director got to sit in the comfortable theatre chairs and listen to the soldiers discuss tactical plans for arming planes in Los Angeles to drop bombs over U.S energy plants.

McGee was stuck down in the lab listening to the bug Ziva had planted in Jamal's room just in case something came up. He liked being with Abby, but Abby was very un-Abby since Tony and Ziva were gone, and he wasn't a fan of being cooped up with angry Abby for eight hour shifts.

So far, all he had heard were a few muffled conversations between Jamal and his personal servant and a handful of extremely awkward conversations between Jamal and Ziva. So awkward, in fact, McGee had felt his ears blush pink. At least, until right now. The conversation he had tapped right now was so unexpectantly important, McGee snapped to attention—sending his rolly chair flying behind him and his CafPow zipping straight from his hands and onto the floor.

"Boss!" McGee shouted, his eyes glued to his computer screen, his mouth dropped open ever so slightly. McGee scrambled to hit the button on the intercom again, transmitting his face directly into MTAC. "Boss, you better get down here!"

"McGee?" Abby's muffled voice wafted up from under her desk. A rumbled pigtail came into view and she tried to stand, slipping on the puddle of ice. "What's going on?"

"Jamal Koram isn't working with Hacksmani to drop a bomb."

"But what about Los Angeles? And the energy plants?" Abby's confused face peered up at McGee from over the desk. "We heard the soldiers talking from the tunnel. And he hired Tony to help Hacksmani gather enough explosives, and Ziva and the Director know Koram as an explosives guy."

"It's a trap, Abby, I know it. I heard him talking to Ziva. He's planning something bigger, something much more dangerous. We have to stop him before he gets a chance."

"We will, McGee." Gibbs assured voice rang out from the elevator as both he and the Director stepped into Abby's lab. "This is why we had Ziva plant the bug. I want to hear everything."

McGee nodded and fiddled around on the computer. The sound of Koram's voice filled the lab, followed by a slightly muffled version of Ziva's. The words were clear, and after three or four minutes, both Gibbs and the Director were sure they had been duped by the feed in the tunnel.

"Which plan is he going to carry out, boss?" McGee asked. "There is no mention of bombs in this version, but that doesn't answer why he would need Tony or Hacksmani. Jamal doesn't seem like the type of business man to hire people unnecessarily."

"He's not." Jenny supplied with a shake of her head. "If he hired Tony for Hacksmani, he was planning on using bombs."

"Then why mention anthrax at all?" Abby wondered. "Is it possible there are two entirely different plans happening at the same time?"

"No." Gibbs answered firmly. "Koram likes control and order. Having to missions going on at one time leaves too much room for error. He would have to make too many sacrifices. It would be smarter to just choose one."

"So one, either the anthrax or the bombs, is a fake." McGee supplied. "Maybe he's bluffing, or he lied to his men, in hopes that we would hear him bluff. He's testing his limits."

"Why would he go to the trouble of making one up unless he knows that we are on to him?" Gibbs wondered out loud.

Everyone exchanged glances silently, eyes wide and thoughts whirring. If Jamal knew there were bugs planted around, chances were he knew Tony and Ziva had planted them. And if he knew that, they wouldn't make it out alive.

**Yeah, I know, it's short. It had to be--it is a filler chapter between the drama meant to tie up any loose ends. I am hoping to get the next chapter out by Monday, but it all depends on my homework this weekend. Blame my teachers, I know I do.**


	10. Faustian Deal for the New Millenium

**Disclaimer in the first chapter, but for the record, I can't even find gas to fill up my car, so I doubt I have the financial means to commandeer NCIS. **

**I apologize again for the delayed updates—I know exactly where I want this to go, and I am determined to finish it…I just wish my teachers would agree with my game plan a little more often. **

Her Mission, His Mistakef

Ziva felt someone watching her through her drefams, the light but constant reminder from the hairs on the back of her neck tickling her from sleep. When she opened her eyes, her hand slowly inching beneath her pillow in search of her emergency knife, Ziva was relieved to see it was only Tony. He was sitting on the bed, looking at her, watching her sleep. There was a slightly frantic expression in his eyes, and the ever quirking corners of his mouth were dejected and worn. Something was wrong, Ziva could just smell it.

"Good morning." Tony said as he saw Ziva's eyelids flicker open. He leaned down and kissed her softly, still amazed he had the ability and the privilege to do so whenever he wished. After so long wanting to kiss her and hold her, Tony still couldn't believe he could. And she wanted him to.

"Mmm. Good morning. Is something wrong?" Ziva pondered, tucking the sheet around her as she sat up in the bed. Tony was already dressed, and from the looks of his hair, showered. In the two weeks they had spent in South Africa, he had never awoken before her.

Tony paused for a moment, not wanting to bring business and the mission into the morning he so desperately wanted to share with Ziva. He knew if he told her why he was awake, why he had already gone through every tactical plan known to mankind over and over in his head, than she would get dressed and scurry over to Jamal's room. And then Jamal would get to kiss her and touch her while Tony was stuck remembering how he just shot himself in the foot.

He kissed her again, half apology and half necessity, soft enough to show his pain but passionate enough to remind him of everything he was going to be missing. Ziva pulled away soon after and stroked his jaw with the corner of her thumb.

"What is wrong, Tony? The mission comes first, remember? I need to know."

"I know. I'm just not ready..." Tony faltered with the words, not quite sure how to tell Ziva that he didn't want to imagine a time in his life where he wouldn't wake up with her on the other side of his bed. It wasn't something he had ever felt before, and certainly nothing he had ever verbalized, so Tony found himself grasping at straws. "I'm not ready to let this go."

Tony's fingers were tracing the light outline of her collarbone as he spoke. Ziva reached forward and placed her hand on top of his on the bed, her eyes meeting his.

"It is time, is it not? Kaman is here?"

"Kaman is here. Jamal already sent a messenger requesting that I join Kaman at a business dinner to discuss the explosives I want to sell. And Jamal wants to see you, too, but that is hardly a surprise." Tony remarked with a harsh laugh, slipping his hand out from under Ziva's to run it through his hair. She began to reach for it, but stopped herself instinctively. If she pushed too hard, she might almost push him away.

Everything was happening too fast. They had just found each other, just learned how much happiness could be found in another's touch, how much safety and love in a place it hadn't been before. Kaman's appearance meant the mission was officially in its climax, and therefore at the peak of its danger. Both of them could die tonight, it was painfully obvious, and either way the mission went they would lose something precious.

Even if they lived, Tony didn't think he'd ever get to hold Ziva like this back in D.C. He wanted to; the ferocity of how much he wanted to scared the former playboy, but Tony was pretty sure Ziva had only succumbed to him because of the thrill of the adventure and the danger of the mission. It was a James Bond situation—once everything subsides, the Bond girls never stick around.

Ziva felt her stomach tumble and roll inside her body as it swallowed her heart. She had been prepared to face Jamal, prepared to help Tony handle Kaman, prepared to get them both out of here as safely as possible. Her fears over the mission didn't hold a candle to her fear over what would happen when they got back to D.C. Ziva had waited so long to be with Tony like this, to feel his arms around her and know that when she woke up in the morning he would be right there beside her. The idea of waking up alone again, of going back to being just partners again, gnawed a hole in her stomach. But he was a player, afraid of commitment and never with one girl for too long, and she knew better than to expect him to change simply because they had had a few good weeks while on a mission.

"I see." Ziva found herself answering. She stood up, the sheet wrapped tightly around her, and headed towards her suitcase. "So it is time for business, then."

"Ziva…" Tony tried helplessly. He wasn't ready to just snap back into business mode. If he was going to fight for his life tonight, he wanted to know he was fighting for her. For them. For their future.

"What?" She snapped, whirling around, trying to hide the tears in her eyes by narrowing her gaze. "What do you want me to say? That I am ready for tonight? I am not, Tony, but that is what I am trained for. That is what we came here for."

"I don't give a shit about the mission, Ziva!" Tony roared, standing up quickly and thundering towards her. His hands gripped her shoulders roughly and his eyes bore down into hers.

"Well than what do you want?"

"You!" he exclaimed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And, to him, it was. "I want you, Ziva. I want us. I want this." He kissed her again, once on her lips and once on her forehead. "I want to know that when we get back to D.C I am still going to wake up with you beside me in the mornings and go to bed with you in my arms at night. I want to know that if I survive this mission I have something to look forward to."

Ziva found herself at a loss for words. Never, not even in her wildest dreams, had she imagines Anthony DiNozzo so willingly giving up his former promiscuity. She hadn't even allowed herself to dream about it, and here he was, offering her everything she had ever wanted on a silver platter.

"That is not going to change, Tony." Ziva answered softly, a thankful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "We do not exist because of this mission…we exist in spite of it. And I am not ready to let this go, either."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up as their lips met, the sheet abandoned, the mission forgotten. All that mattered was the soft mattress underneath his back and the beautiful woman in his arms. Tony and Ziva could death with Armageddon later, but right now, both agents felt like they desperately had to convince the other that nothing was going to change and no one was going anywhere.

* * *

Ziva watched from the bed as Tony headed towards the front door, where an armed soldier was waiting to accompany him to his meeting with Kaman Hacksmani. Kaman had arrived while Ziva and Tony were otherwise preoccupied and had requested his meeting with Tony immediately. And Ziva couldn't help but feeling like a nervous girlfriend as she watched him prepare. She knew the danger, and she knew he did, too, but was still scared as hell. Was this what it felt like, being in love?

"Make sure you tell him you can not ship him the explosives today."

"I know, Ziva."

"And speak clearly; there is a bug in every conference room and we need to make sure Jenny and Gibbs have enough to convict him."

"I know, Ziva."

"And keep an eye on the door and watch his hands. Keep one of your hands on the knife you brought at all times."

"I know, Ziva!" Tony tugged hard on the lapels of his jacket and turned to face her, his expression half consoling and half annoyed. "I'm a federal agent. I know what I'm doing."

"I know you do. I am just…"

"Worried? Obsessive?"

"I do not get obsessive!" Ziva exclaimed. Tony quirked one eyebrow and leaned over from the foot of the bed to give her a kiss. "Sure you don't."

There was a harsh knock at the door and a burble of Persian. Ziva shouted back in French, telling the guard Jean Bonswa would be right out.

Tony straightened up after her shout and cracked his knuckles. "I'll be fine. I want you to be careful, too, because when this is all over we are going to have one hell of a celebration. The finest restaurant in D.C, I promise."

"I will hold you to it." Ziva said with a shaky smile, her words struggling to get past the knot in her throat and the trembling in her lips. She was a Mossad agent who had lived through countless missions more dangerous than this, and had yet to cry in the face of any of them. But this was different. This was Tony, and it was out of her control. If something happened to him, chances were she wouldn't know until it was too late.

He was reaching for the doorknob when Ziva flung herself off the bed and wrapped her arms tightly around his back. "Do not dare leave without kissing me goodbye."

Tony smiled as he turned around to face her and wiped the remnants of a tear off her cheek with his thumb. The kissed to remember everything the might be losing, to forget everything they might have to endure to get back to this exact spot, to cement everything they had been through these past few weeks and to make sure the other never forgot how it felt to be loved. Completely and hopelessly loved.

When Tony pulled away, there were tears on his face, and he wasn't sure who they belonged to. He kissed Ziva lightly on the top of her head and quickly shut the door behind him.

Ziva ran a finger over her lips, still tingling from his touch, and paused by the door for a second. She sent a quick prayer up to the heavens for his safety, the first prayer she had made since Tali's death, and she hoped the monumental sacrifice on her part was enough to ensure its safe delivery. She then slipped into a backless red dress for her meeting with Jamal, hoping if she got there soon enough she could get it over with faster and they'd be home free.

Jamal had basically fed her, and the bug, all the useful information he had left. At this point, her job was to keep him distracted so he didn't join the meeting with Kaman and Tony, giving Tony the ability to wheedle his way into a deal and figure out the details of the bomb. Once she had put him to sleep, Ziva was then supposed to finagle the keys to any one of his cars. As soon as Tony was out of the meeting, she would make sure Jamal was out cold and they would jump out the back window of his room and disappear into the garage, an easy escape plan for a much too tumultuous mission.

She was surprised how quiet the room was when she entered. Jamal should be preparing for something, doing one thing or another. The lights were on, and he was sitting comfortably on the couch flipping through a newspaper.

"Why you certainly look comfortable." Ziva remarked with a slow smile. Jamal looked up from his paper when she spoke, and she paused in the doorway, feeling like a bug pinned to the wall under his heavy gaze. This was definitely one part of the mission she would never miss. "Feel like some company?"

"I always want your company, Madeline." He patted his knee and fluffed the pages of his paper. Ziva bit her tongue to keep from rolling her eyes as she walked over towards him. She perched on the end of the couch, her legs brushed up against his as a tactical maneuver more so than anything else.

"You look beautiful tonight, Madeline. Good enough to eat." Ziva was uncomfortably aware of his locked gaze on her too low neckline and just managed to twist out of the way as his hand reached towards the strap on her shoulder.

"Speaking of food, Jamal, I am famished. Do you mind if I duck back into the kitchen and see if there is anything for me to eat?"

"No, not at all." His words were smooth, his tone exactly the same mixture of lust and amusement it had always been, but there was something different about his posture. Ziva could just feel it in the air. As she made a move towards the kitchen he stood, too, and blocked her path. There was a slight smile on his face and Ziva felt her stomach turn. Something was odd.

His hand ran down the length of her back as he made a play for her lips, and Ziva fought the urge to use her teeth instead of her finesse. She was trained for this moment, had been since she was a teenager, and Ziva would be damned if the entire mission was blown because she felt slimy over a little unwanted kissing. She was Mossad, and Ziva liked to think her time in NCIS hadn't changed that.

When Jamal's hand began to work the zipper along the side of her dress, Ziva tried to sideswipe him by taking a step backwards and to the side. Much to her surprise, Jamal just moved with her. Before she knew it, her attempt to avoid him had landed them both on the couch instead. Definitely not the smartest move.

"I have been a patient man, Madeline, but I am tired of waiting for you. I have wanted you since the moment you came back to my camp." He was looking down at her now, the weight and the muscle of him pinning her to the couch. She could move if she wanted to, but it would give her cover away in a second. Madeline the prostitute wasn't capable of the same things as Ziva David.

His lips dipped into her collarbone and Ziva found herself grasping for the mask that had always protected her in the past. Tali, Ari, Mattie. Ziva just had to wrap herself in the pain and the hurt and the revenge and then she could do anything. But as she began to wrap the too familiar threads around her inner psyche, all she could think of was Tony. Tony who wouldn't understand. Tony who was protected by NCIS from situations like this, Tony who couldn't possibly fathom why she had felt this was a necessity. Not now.

"Jamal, I am flattered, really, but surely you must be exaggerating. I am not as special as you may imagine, mon cheri." She smiled at him and lightly but firmly tugged his chin up so she could look him in the eyes. "Could you allow a lady to get a glass of wine first, my dear eager man?"

"You are no lady, Madeline." Jamal said with a smug grin. Still, he eased off her and uncorked the decanter. Ziva felt herself frown. It was too easy. "But I am in no rush. Kaman and your agent friend should be meeting for quite sometime."

Ziva felt her heart stop in her chest as the realization of his last statement hit her straight in the gut. He knew. Jamal knew about Tony. He knew and oh, oh dear god, he knew and there was no way to warn Tony.

"Excuse me?" Ziva scrambled for control as she felt Jamal look at her slyly, hoping to gage her reaction.

"There is no reason to play coy with me, Madeline. I have known Jean Bonswa wasn't who he said he was for weeks now, just as you are not who you say you are. Do you think a man of my position doesn't think to place bugs inside my guest rooms?" Jamal handed a dumbfounded Ziva the glass of wine and took a seat beside her calmly on the couch. As if they were discussing what to serve for dinner.

"I sent my men in 24 hours after your arrival, assuming you had already done a bug sweep and wouldn't be looking again. I was pleasantly surprised by everything I heard." He took a sip from his own glass, and Ziva felt her cheeks burn with anger. He had heard everything between her and Tony, the sex, the declarations of forever. That was private. Jamal had no right.

"So why wait until now? If you have known about Tony and I since the beginning, why have you not done something beforehand?"

"Because that will not get me what I want." Jamal answered simply. "I don't care if your American friends learn about Kaman's plans, and I don't care if he gets incarcerated either. I want you, Madeline, and killing you and your agent friend for espionage would hardly be the best way to go about getting that."

"You did all of this for one night with me?" Ziva asked in disbelief. He had known all along. Who knew if the information Jamal had been feeding her was accurate or not, and who knew if the bugs had sent NCIS on a wild goose chase. He had been playing them the entire time. This mission was going down hill fast.

Jamal laughed, and his blue eyes were hard when the met hers again. "You misunderstand me. I want you, Madeline, forever. Tonight, tomorrow, and the next day. You belong to me now."

"What the hell makes you think I am going to agree to that?" Ziva responded viscerally. Nothing was worth eternity in that man's slimy arms. Nothing. She'd rather die first.

"Because with less effort than I use crushing a cockroach I can have your Tony killed. All it takes is one call to Kaman. A bullet hole through the forehead, perhaps, although I doubt it. Kaman likes to shoot in the heart—it takes longer."

Ziva felt her heart stop now and everything around her ceased to exist. Tony was worth an eternity with Kaman, and the terrible thing was, she felt so much better when she realized she could save him. Tony could get out safe, could go home, and Ziva was the difference between him making that trip in a box or in a chair. The decision was the easiest she had ever had to make.

"If I agree to this, you let him go? Unharmed?"

"Of course. I am a man of my word, and I have no use for your American any longer. As of tomorrow morning, I will wash my hands of him. I will even make it look as if he escaped on his own to preserve his honor. I am not without feelings, Madeline."

"He will notice if I do not go with him, Jamal. He will not leave without me." Ziva was grasping at straws, hoping beyond hope that he would give her a chance to say goodbye to Tony. Before she did this she had to make sure he was alright. She needed to know he was going to be okay.

"I will allow you to say goodbye to your Tony, Madeline, but that is it. I will have a trained sniper on him at all times and if you as much as hint that you are not joining him, then I will have him killed immediately. The last thing I need on the heels of such big preparations is an American federal agency searching for you. I am a fair man, Madeline. Your life in return for his. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal." The word stuck in Ziva's throat and she felt every Mossad instructer she had ever had yelling and berating her for failure. A real agent would resist. A real agent would fight back. But she wasn't just Mossad any longer. She was NCIS now, and rule number one was never to screw over your partner. The chances of Tony escaping unharmed shrank to microscopic size if she as much as squawked and she couldn't take that risk. Tony was her partner, her lover, and quite possibly the love of her life.

If spending a few months with Jamal until she could figure out an escape plan was what it took to guarantee his life, than so be it.

Ziva stood up, running through a million scenarios in her head. She needed to convince Tony, but right now, all she wanted to do was see him. Hold him. Kiss him. Memorize the feel of him.

"Where do you think you are going?"

Ziva turned, halfway to the door. "You told me I could say goodbye."

"And you can. When I say so. But we are not finished here. I want part of my payment now."

Jamal was at her side in a minute, the fingers of his hand stroking her bare back. There was a glint in his eyes she had never seen before, not even during that first mission so long ago, and she knew that this time she wasn't going to avoid him. Ziva had played with his lust for too long, teasing and avoiding until he inevitably was ready to put an end to the games all together.

"What do you mean?"

"Stay with me tonight and I won't call Kaman and have your American killed. I need to know that I am not sacrificing a valuable asset for nothing. I need to make sure my sacrifice is worthwhile. Stay with me tonight, and I will let him live until the morning."

"You made a promise, Jamal." Ziva stammered. How could she face Tony with the stench of Jamal's cologne on her skin, the remnants of his touch on her body? But, then again, she may never see him again if she didn't.

"I promised that I would wash my hands of him tomorrow. But tonight I need to make sure I made the best deal possible. That you are worth everything I am prepared to give up. That you are worth his life."

Jamal knew he had her, and Ziva could see it in his eyes. He knew she couldn't avoid him tonight, and Ziva knew it too. Why was one night with Jamal different then the other nights she had readily signed up for to save Tony's life? Why was sex here different than sex somewhere else?

Because Tony could find out about this time. Because Tony wouldn't understand, couldn't understand, and Ziva couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye to him with the imprint of another man on her skin. But she couldn't even fathom the idea of his death, so she knew her answer before she even opened her mouth.

Oddly enough, this time, she didn't need a flashbacks of her family to get her through. All she needed was Tony. The thought of him lying in a pool of his own blood, the remembrance of his mouth on her hot skin, the image of his cold vacant eyes. Tony. Tony. Tony.

**So I think this was a little more intense than some of the other chapters, but rightfully so. Now, I would really appreciate it if y'all could help me choose. Should Tony find out about her night with Jamal before he leaves, or should they have a romantic goodbye and he learn it all later on?**

**Lemme know what you think!**


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